Civil War
by RavenMaid
Summary: ALTERNATE ENDING!!!! Co-authored with Bsfriend (EKC). Harm arrives on Mac's doorstep badly injured. She's able to save his life, but now they face even deadlier challenges.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I own neither JAG, nor it's characters; no copyright infringement is intended. All other characters are of my own mind's creation.  
  
Author's Note: I have tried to be as historically accurate as possible. This story takes place in Warren County, Mississippi in the winter of 1863- 1864. The names of places and battles are for the most part completely factual. I have used surnames that where in use in that county as of the 1820 census; these names are not meant to identify any real person or family of that time period, but to make my characters more believable. Mississippi is called the "Magnolia State" and its state tree- the Magnolia Tree, its state flower- the Magnolia, hence its nickname. The motto of the state is: "Virtute et armis", which means "By Valor and Arms."  
  
Setting: Warren Co, MS, near Vicksburg  
  
December 1863- January 1864  
  
  
  
Dec 26, 1862 Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, Mississippi  
  
Mississippi winters were generally mild, but this December was colder than anyone could imagine; there had even been a snowfall. Today she was enjoying a quiet visit with her nearest neighbor, Harriet Roberts. Harriet was Mac's exact opposite in looks. Mac was a lady of unparalleled beauty, or so many of the towns people said. She was tall for a woman, and had a graceful figure. She had soft, glowing skin, and rich chocolate colored hair that she refused to pin up. She often wore it in a long braid down her back. Harriet, though, was a pretty southern belle. Her corn silk hair was always done up prettily and her pale blue eyes were gentle and laughing. She was a year younger than Mac, and already she had a two-year- old son, whom she had named after Mac's uncle, for he had sold her husband the land for their farm.  
  
Mac's uncle, Colonel Albert Jethro Chegwidden, had been called to command confederate troops when the war had broken out the year before.  
  
"How is little AJ?" Mac asked. She abbreviated the name because Albert Jethro was such a mouthful.  
  
"He's wonderful, he's spending the day with Bud," Harriet said, lovingly thinking of her husband and son. "AJ was so happy yesterday morning when he opened the Noah's Ark he carved for him that he made his papa stay home and play with him."  
  
Mac smiled, thinking of her first Noah's Ark and its little pairs of animals.  
  
"He hasn't taken off the sweater you knitted for him," Harriet continued, giving Mac a mirthful look, knowing perfectly well that Mac despised knitting, so her making a sweater was quite a feat.  
  
Mac wasn't like most other plantation or farm women. Most women sat demurely indoors knitting, sewing, and eating little cakes while they entertained other wealthy women in the community. Mac enjoyed sewing and knitting, but only as much as it was necessary. She much preferred to be out-of-doors, working in her herb and rose gardens, tending to the horses, seeing to the business that was running a farm. It was this "masculine" enthusiasm that had given her Uncle the confidence to leave her in charge of his farm while he was away.  
  
Mac returned the smile, and said, "What are your plans for the New Year?"  
  
"We haven't made any yet," her friend replied sadly, "Actually, with Bud's 'sensibilities' I doubt we'll have any plans at all."  
  
Mac knew what Harriet meant- Bud was an open supporter of the Union, and in the small Kirkwood community this was not well received. "Harriet, you, Bud, and little AJ are more then welcome to spend the New Year here with me and the hands," Mac said decidedly, "We're having a small party and I'd love it if you would attend."  
  
"Oh, Mac, we couldn't impose," Harriet replied, but at Mac's happily stern face, she relented, "Alright, we'll be here."  
  
"Good. You can bring that delicious plum pudding of yours."  
  
Both women laughed, but amid their gaiety there came a sudden loud clatter of the kitchen door slamming shut. Mac and Harriet both rose from their seats in the parlor and hurried down the hall and into the kitchen. Standing in the middle of the room, was Bobbi, the slender black woman who was Mac's housekeeper. She was drenched from head to toe and looked as though she had seen a ghost.  
  
"What's the matter, Bobbi?" Mac asked concerned as she pulled out a chair for Bobbi so she could sit near the fire.  
  
"It's the Yankees, ma'am," she said breathlessly, "They've landed at Johnson Plantation."  
  
Harriet raised her hand to her mouth, smothering a gasp, and Mac looked at Bobbi staggered. "So close? Are you sure?"  
  
"Yes'm," Bobbi chattered. "I just saw Abram Coody, and he told me that he'd seen them land."  
  
"How many men?" Mac asked as she draped Bobbi's rain-soaked heavy cotton shawl over another chair, and then bent to untie her boots. The Hannah, the plump black cook, and young Gunny, a farmhand who'd been lounging in the kitchen, had now crowded around them to hear what was going on.  
  
"Abram said there must have been thirty thousand Yankees against the nine thousand Confederates," Bobbi said her teeth still chattering.  
  
Mac had gotten her boots off and set them by the fire to dry, but Bobbi was still shivering. "Come on, Bobbi, let's get you some dry clothes," she said in a compassionate yet commanding tone.  
  
"No need to worry, Miss Mac," Bobbi tried to excuse herself, "I'll dry off in a few."  
  
"In about a century," Mac finished for her as she began to gently push the other woman toward the back staircase, "You can borrow some of my work clothes for the rest of the day."  
  
Resignedly, Bobbi nodded. "Just as long as it's not those drawstring pants of yours."  
  
Gunny and Hannah both snickered, and though Mac was smiling, too, she turned to them and said, "Now, Hannah, don't you have something to roast or bake? And, Gunny, I want you to go around and tell all the hands that I want the men bunking in the barn and the women and children in the house. I don't want anyone at their own little cottages tonight. And be quick about it."  
  
Gunny's grin disappeared and he nodded solemnly, "Yes, ma'am."  
  
Mac then turned to look at Harriet, "I'm sorry our visit has been cut short, Harriet."  
  
"Don't worry about that," Harriet said, putting on a strong face, "I've got to be getting home to warn Bud and our hands. I'll see you in a few days."  
  
"Yes, of course," Mac said as she embraced her friend, "Take care, friend."  
  
Harriet smiled a warm, motherly smile before she turned from the kitchen a left.  
  
That night, while the hands lay sleeping, Mac walked around the big house, carrying with her a single candle. She stepped silently over their sleeping forms, as she made sure they were all accounted for. There hadn't been a battle so close to Kirkwood since the beginning of the war, but Mac had heard the terrifying stories of the actions of wayward soldiers. They'd harass, rape, and sometimes even kill slaves, or freed slaves, or even hired hands, in their own cottages. And she, Mac, wasn't about to let that happen to any of her hands.  
  
Once she was certain they were all present, and comfortable, she herself went up to bed. 


	2. Chap 2

Dec 28, 1862 Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, MS  
  
The battle had begun on the twenty-seventh, just two days after Christmas. Rumor had it that Union General Sherman was attempting to take Walnut Hill, by trudging over thirty thousand soldiers through the swamps. Walnut Hill was defended by nine thousand Confederate soldiers, and from their elevated position, they were inflicting a great many casualties on the Yankees.  
  
For Mac and the hands, the gunfire of the battle was sounding in their ears. The sounds were yet some distance off, for which Mac frequently thanked God, but they were constant. On the morning of the twenty-eighth, Mac got a very important message:  
  
There was a knock at the door. Bobbi answered it formally, but with a knowing look in her eyes, "How may I help you, sir?"  
  
The young man, who looked to be about eighteen-years-old, stood waiting at the door. When he saw Bobbi, he removed his hat, revealing a mass of short straw colored curls; he raised his blue eyes to Bobbi's and replied, "I have an urgent message for Miss Sarah Mackenzie."  
  
Bobbi gave the young man a scrutinizing glare before she turned to get Mac. "Ma'am, there's a young man at the door with an urgent message for you."  
  
"Thank you, Bobbi," Mac said, as she had already seen the young man from the library window and had come to greet him. She wrapped her plaid wool shawl around her shoulders and stepped out through the door and onto the porch.  
  
"You take great risk in carrying messages today, Tiner," she said seriously, "I hope it is of great importance."  
  
The young man nodded earnestly. "It is," he said, "The conductor is due here at the station tonight."  
  
"Not, tonight," Mac said worriedly, "Surely, he knows that there is a battle raging here. It's too dangerous to move the train through here."  
  
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but the conductor cannot stay at the current station," Tiner told her, "It's been shut down by Brumby."  
  
"Oh, no. What happened?" Mac asked, "How did he find out?"  
  
"We don't know yet, ma'am," Tiner shook his head; his eyes blazing, "You'd better watch out for that man, Mac. Rumor has it he's been trying to find your uncle to ask his permission to."  
  
"Don't you worry about that, Tiner," Mac said with more confidence that she felt, "My uncle has a very clear understanding of how I feel about that."  
  
Tiner smiled, but then he became serious again, "What word shall I take back to the station from you?"  
  
Mac looked anxiously toward the sounds of the battle in the Chickasaw Bayou, then back at Tiner. She nodded, and Tiner, understanding this, made a small bow, and left. Bobbi, who'd been waiting inside the door ventured out onto the porch.  
  
"Miss Mac," she said, "Don't worry yourself. They'll make it here."  
  
"It's where they go from here that's worrying me," she confided. Her face was pinched in thought. "They'll have to stay for a while, it won't be safe to move them with the armies still here; not to mention, that if Mic stops buy."  
  
"We'll manage," Bobbi said, as she put an assuring arm around Mac's waist, and Mac smiled. 


	3. Chap 3

That night, all of the hands slept in the barn, except for Bobbi and Gunny. They and Mac didn't sleep that night. As soon as it was dark, Bobbi hung a lantern on the front porch of the house, and she sat and sewed with Mac, while Gunny read aloud. And they waited. At half past midnight, there came three soft knocks at the front door.  
  
Mac silently rose to her feet, and walked swiftly to the door. "Who is it?" she called.  
  
"Conductor Turner for Stationmaster Mackenzie," came a strained, deep male voice.  
  
Mac opened the door, and standing before was a tall black man flanked by four fugitive slaves. They looked like a family: a father, mother, son and daughter. They were all underdressed for the weather and terribly skinny, and the little girl was crying. But Mac hardly noticed them at all, for Turner was holding up a Union soldier, whose shoulder of his blue uniform was drenched in blood. He looked as though he'd be taller then Turner, but he was barely able to remain standing. His dark hair contrasted with the awful, pasty white of his skin.  
  
"Get him inside," Mac urged and she held the door open. Turner hurried into the house almost carrying the injured man, and the fugitive family followed. From behind them, Mac called out orders, "Gunny, take care of the family. Get them situated. Bobbi, bring me clean bandages, hot water, and my kit."  
  
Sturgis carried the man into the parlor and lay him on the couch. The soldier groaned in pain. Mac knelt next to him, and began to remove his uniform jacket, but he lifted his good arm and tried to stop her.  
  
"It's alright," she reassured him, "I'm going to help you. What's your name, soldier?"  
  
He looked frightened, but as he looked into her strong brown eyes, he seemed to relax. "Lieutenant Harmon Rabb, JR, United States Army."  
  
"Well, Mr. Rabb."  
  
"Harm," he said painfully.  
  
Mac smiled softly and brushed his hair of his forehead, "Harm, then. Lie still, and I'll take care of you. Understand?"  
  
Harm closed his eyes against the pain in his shoulder, but he managed a weak nod.  
  
"Where did you find him, Sturgis?" she quietly asked the tall black man who'd identified himself as the conductor.  
  
"He was stumbling through the bayou near the battle," he told her as he raised the lieutenant so Mac could slide the jacket off him completely. Bobbi appeared with the bandages and a basin of hot water. She placed them on the floor next to Mac, and left to retrieve the kit. "How bad is he?" Sturgis asked apprehensively.  
  
"We'll find out," Mac said as she ripped open his bloodstained shirt. "Hold him down," she ordered Sturgis, and then she cupped Harm's dirty cheek in her hand, and said as gently as she could, "This may hurt a bit." Then, she dipped one of the bandages in the steaming hot water, rung it out and then she wiped his shoulder and chest so she could see the wound. Harm drew a ragged breath, and more sweat glistened on his forehead. "It's a gunshot wound," Mac said. She passed the bandage to Sturgis, and told him, "Push this onto the wound to stop the bleeding. Bobbi, hurry with my kit."  
  
Bobbi hurried into the room at that moment carrying a large letterbox and an apron over her arm. Mac motioned her to set it next to the couch where the Harm lay. As Bobbi opened the box and organized its supplies, Mac removed her heavy woolen outer shirt, and rolled up the long sleeves of her white cotton undershirt. Bobbi tied the apron around Mac's waist and they went to work.  
  
"What are you going to do?" Sturgis asked.  
  
"I'm going to get the bullet out and then bandage him up," Mac said as she opened a bottle of whiskey that had come from the box. She poured a little of it onto her hands and rubbed them together.  
  
"You're wasting good drink," Sturgis complained.  
  
"No, it cleans the hands," she said, as she poured a generous amount onto Harm's shoulder, and he cried out in pain. "Sturgis light the lamps, I need more light."  
  
In the new light, Mac could see that his striking blue eyes were pained and scared. Bobbi went to stand by his head. She gently stroked his forehead.  
  
"Bobbi, take this cloth and hold it over his mouth and nose," Mac ordered, and Bobbi did so, "Now, take this, and drip it slowly into the cloth, just one drop per minute, enough to lightly soak the cloth, but not enough for it to drip through."  
  
"What is it, ma'am?" Bobbi asked.  
  
"It's chloroform," Mac said, "It's going to make him sleep and not feel. Watch his breathing, if it slows or stops tell me."  
  
Bobbi swallowed hard and nodded. Sturgis looked at Mac in amazement. "How do you know what to do?" he asked.  
  
Mac was dipping a pair of long metal pliers into the whiskey bottle. "My father was a doctor; I watched and worked with him before he died," she said. She looked down at Harm, whose eyes had begun to droop, and when they finally closed, Mac squared her own shoulders, steeling herself for what she was about to do, "Let's see if we can save you."  
  
With that she stuck the metal pliers into the wound and began to probe for the bullet. It took nearly ten minutes of searching, and even using her bare fingers in the wound to find it. When she finally pulled the bullet out, her hands and apron were covered in blood.  
  
"He's extremely lucky," she said examining the little metal ball, "This looks like a left over ball from the Revolution, someone must have been using an antique musket. If it had been a modern ball, it would have done much more damage."  
  
She placed the ball into a small vile in the medical kit. She retrieved a clean bandage and soaked it in the hot water, to which she had added some whiskey. She then began to clean out the wound and the area around it. Finally, she flushed the wound clean by pouring a pitcher of hot water over it.  
  
Gunny came into the room, just as Mac pulled a needle and thread out of the box, she didn't even look up and see that he was there. Like she had with the pliers, she washed the needle in whiskey before threading it. Then, she stitched the wound shut. "Bobbi, you can take the cloth off his face now," she said wearily, as she replaced the needle and thread in the kit.  
  
She picked up more bandages, and she folded one into a neat square and pressed it firmly onto his soldier. Bobbi held it there, as Mac unrolled another bandage and wrapped it up over his shoulder, down around his chest, and secured it tightly. She sat back on her heels and looked over the bandaged soldier, and nodded.  
  
"Sturgis, will you help me carry him upstairs," she asked, rising to her feet.  
  
"No, I'll help carry him," Gunny said, and Mac finally noticed his presence, "The family's been taken care of. Besides, I don't think you could carry him, ma'am."  
  
Mac smiled tiredly and nodded. "Bobbi, show them into the West room," she said, "I'll pick up here."  
  
Bobbi nodded, and Sturgis and Tiner lifted Harm- Tiner at his feet and Sturgis at his head. They followed Bobbi up the stairs and disappeared down the hallway. Mac knelt back down next to the letterbox, but before she picked anything up, she washed her hands in the now red water in the basin. She dried them on a clean part of her apron. Then, she picked up the bottle of chloroform, sealed it and placed it back into the box. She wrapped up the bandages she hadn't used, and then when all was put away, she closed the box, and looked at the couch where Harm had lain.  
  
The soft blue fabric was stained crimson and the stain was spreading because of the water that had leaked onto it. On floor beside the couch, Mac noticed the Harm's discarded uniform jacket; it, too, was drenched in blood. So much blood, from a single man, she thought, and that which she had kept within herself finally broke free. Two fat tears rolled down her soft cheeks.  
  
"Ma'am, he's resting now," Bobbi said from behind her.  
  
Mac quickly brushed her tears away with the back of her hand. When she turned to face Bobbi, her eyes were dry. "Thank you, Bobbi," she said, "We'll have to take turns sitting with him. Would you mind taking the first shift?"  
  
"Not at all, Mac," Bobbi reassured her, "Will he make it?"  
  
Mac shook her head, "If he makes it through the night, he has a good chance. I'll be in the kitchen. Come and get me if he wakes."  
  
"What are you going to be doing in the kitchen at this hour?" Bobbi asked sternly.  
  
"I'll be making a poultice for the wound," Mac told her.  
  
"Okay, but you ought to sleep some," Bobbi said as she patted her on the arm, and as she turned to leave the stopped and said, "You did an amazing thing tonight, Sarah."  
  
Mac looked gratefully at Bobbi, and then she bent down and picked up the letterbox. She carried it into the kitchen, reopened it and set to work. 


	4. Chap 4

Dec 29, 1863 Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, MS  
  
Harm didn't wake during the night; instead he slept peacefully well into the afternoon. When he finally woke, he wasn't sure if he was dead or dreaming. From where he lay, he saw young woman standing in front of a window across the room. The light from the window cast a beautiful shadow around her and illuminated the wispy curls of hair that had escaped her braid, causing her to look like an angel. And then he knew her.  
  
"Diane, am I dead?" he whispered, and at the sound of his voice the angle jumped and spun to face him. She crossed the room in three strides.  
  
"How are you feeling?" she asked reaching out and feeling his forehead.  
  
"Please, Diane, tell me, am I dead?" he pleaded.  
  
"You're not dead. You're alive, and lucky to be so," Mac said, but her voice sounded worried. She looked into his eyes; they were glossy with fever. She walked toward the door.  
  
Harm was suddenly afraid that she as leaving, "Wait, don't leave me."  
  
She looked back at him and smiled. "I'm not going to leave you," she assured him, and then, she called out, "Bobbi, please bring me the poultice, and some hot water and bandages."  
  
Mac tried not to listen to his fevered ramblings while she waited for Bobbi, but she was intrigued. Who was this woman he was mumbling about- mother, sister, wife, lover?  
  
"If I'm alive, then what are you doing here?" he asked softly, "You must be here to help me."  
  
"You could say that," Mac answered, knowing that Harm wasn't speaking to her but to some other woman in his life.  
  
Soon, Bobbi came into the room carrying the poultice, bandages and a basin and pitcher of hot water. Mac smiled tiredly, yet thankfully. Bobbi helped her pull the sheets away from his shoulder, revealing the bandage there. The bandage was no longer clean white, but instead, a pale yellow stain was spreading from its center.  
  
"What are you going to do?" Bobbi asked, trying to sound confident.  
  
"I'm just going to change the bandage and apply a fresh poultice," Mac said, her fingers deftly removing the soiled bandage. "I need to cleanse the area, though."  
  
"He shouldn't move much, but just in case," Mac said, as she wrung out a clean bandage, "Bobbi would you hold his shoulders down."  
  
"Of course, ma'am," she answered, and she took up a position on the other side of the bed, and placed her hands firmly on Harm's muscular shoulders. Mac applied the wet cloth and began to thoroughly clean the area around the wound. Harm only flinched once, and Bobbi's strong arms held him down well.  
  
"How is he?" she asked Mac.  
  
"He's taken fever," she replied, "I need to make up a draft for him, and I may need to reopen the wound, to allow it to clean itself, but it looks alright."  
  
"Is he going to make it?"  
  
"He's strong and, from the looks of it, healthy," Mac said, trying to sound optimistic, "He may pull through."  
  
Bobbi nodded, and decided to change the subject. "The family is safe. You should have seen them eat last night, ma'am."  
  
Mac smiled at the thought, even as she continued to cleanse the pus from the soldier's wound. "They must have been so hungry, and so cold. Have we gotten them proper clothing?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Bobbi replied happily, "They've each been given warm sweaters, jackets, sock, and even shoes."  
  
"Bobbi, where did you find shoes to give them?" Mac asked, looking up from the wound, and reached onto the bedside table for a dry cloth.  
  
Bobbi smiled and answered, "I made a pair out that old wool blanket. Gunny had an old pair from when he was child that he gave to the little girl, and the other hands were able to find some old ones that they could part with for the father and son."  
  
"Bobbi, your resourcefulness never ceases to amaze me," Mac said honestly, and she finished drying the wound. "Where is the family now?"  
  
"They're hiding in the passage," Bobbi said, "But the door into the kitchen is open so that they can talk with Hannah, and have light."  
  
"You left them to talk with Hannah," Mac said grinning, as she and Bobbi lifted Harm's sleeping body and wrapped fresh bandages around his wound and the poultice. "She'll talk them out of their minds."  
  
Bobbi and Mac both smiled at the prospect. When that had secured the bandages, Bobbi straightened the covers, and then she sat down next to the bed, and she pulled her knitting basket out from underneath the bed. As she began to knit, Mac was already downstairs making a draft for Harm that would help him to fight the fever. 


	5. Chap 5

Dec 29, 1863 Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, MS  
  
When Mac walked into the kitchen, Hannah stopped in mid-sentence and just looked at her. It was odd for Hannah to stop talking, but in mid-sentence, that was something Mac could never remember her doing. They fugitive family, along with Sturgis Turner, their conductor, who had been sitting at the kitchen table eating their midday meal, also looked up and made to rise from their seats.  
  
"Please, keep your seats," Mac said, and nodded her head toward their chairs. She deposited the tray of bandages, pitcher and basin, and poultice on the island counter top in the middle of the large room. She was about to being making up the draft, when Sturgis said, "This is Sarah Mackenzie. She's the stationmaster."  
  
At that the father of the fugitive family, a man with salt-and-pepper hair who looked to be almost forty rose to his feet. He addressed Mac formally, "Ma'am, I can't thank you enough for everything you have done."  
  
"Please," she said, shaking her head, "Call me Mac. Welcome, and while you're here please, make yourselves at home."  
  
"Again, many thanks," the father said, "My name is Ezekiel Gibson. This my wife Margaret, and our children Isaac and Minnie."  
  
"It is a pleasure to meet you all," Mac said as she shook hands with each of them. Margaret was in her mid-thirties, and had the look of a healthy woman who has lost a lot of weight too quickly. Isaac looked to be I his early teens, perhaps, thirteen- or fourteen-years-old. He looked much like his father- shorter in stature, but broad shouldered and strong, though a bit skinny. And little, Minnie, couldn't have been more than ten. She hair was pulled back into a neat little bun, and her eyes twinkled with youthful innocence.  
  
"You've given us so much, if there is anything we can do to repay you." Margaret started, but Mac held up her hand before she could finish speaking.  
  
"All I ask, is that you reach freedom," she said genuinely. Then, seeing the looks on Margaret and Ezekiel's faces Mac was afraid she might have insulted them, so she added lightly, "But if you're looking for something to do, I'm sure we can find something to keep you busy."  
  
Margaret's face seemed to brighten and Ezekiel seemed to stand taller. "Ezekiel and I can read, and I'm good with a needle, mem, and the children are mighty handy."  
  
"Oh, that's such a relief. I'm not much at needlework and I'm woefully behind in the mending," Mac said truthfully, and Margaret nodded happily. Mac looked at little Minnie and noticed that the little girl had taken a keen interest in Hannah's cooking. "And I think, Miss Hannah could use an extra pair of hands in the baking this afternoon," Mac said suggestively, winking at Hannah.  
  
"Ah, of course I do," the heavyset cook replied, "We'll be making lots of bread and biscuits for the hands. Would you like to help me little Minnie?"  
  
The little girl looked up at her mother, who smiled and nodded and the child pranced over to Hannah, who gave her a little bowl of egg and milk to mix. That left only Ezekiel and Isaac to find chores for.  
  
Sturgis, who'd been sitting silently by watching the conversation unfold, rose from his seat, and said, "I understand young Gunny is trying to move the hay bails in the barn, I think we could assist him, eh, Zeke?"  
  
Ezekiel nodded and touched his son's arm. "Well, that would be most helpful of you," Mac said, then added, suddenly worried, "But, Sturgis, remember to keep them, and yourself, out of sight."  
  
"Not to worry, Mac," Sturgis said, "The passageway leads to the barn. We'll just slip in there at the first sight of anyone."  
  
"Preferably sooner," Mac warned, and Sturgis smiled reassuringly. Then, he led Ezekiel and Isaac out to the barn. "I'll find that mending for you, Mrs. Gibson, if you'll give me a moment."  
  
Mac disappeared into a closet in the hallway outside the kitchen, and returned a few moments later with a basket full of shirts, petticoats, shawls, socks, and countless other garments.  
  
"I'm sorry, it's such a mess," she apologized, "But I've never been very enthusiastic about sewing, mending and needlework."  
  
Margaret took the basket from her and she helped Mac organize the clothes on the kitchen table. From behind them, little Minnie said simply, "But you mend people."  
  
Margaret blushed and turned around to face her daughter. "Minnie Gibson, you mind your work," she said sternly and Minnie looked down into her bowl, chastised. Then, Margaret faced Mac with guilty eyes, "We didn't mean to pry into your personal life, mem. We was just talking about that soldier and how you fixed him last night."  
  
"Well, that's nothing personal, Mrs. Gibson," Mac assured her, "In fact, if it hadn't been for your family and Sturgis, Lieutenant Rabb, the soldier, wouldn't have made it here."  
  
"Oh, well," Margaret said bashfully, "You done everything to fix him, though."  
  
Mac's cheeks turned a bit pink, and she said, "Well, my father taught me how to."  
  
Suddenly, there came a loud knock from the front door, and man's voice called out for Miss Mackenzie. Mac dropped the shirt she was holding and sprang into action.  
  
"Mrs. Gibson, little Minnie, you'll have to hide for a little while," she said quickly but as gently as she could so as not to scare Minnie, "Here's a lantern and there should be a good book in there. You can come out as soon as it's safe."  
  
Margaret nodded as she hurried her frightened daughter into the passageway. Mac rounded on Hannah, "Go to the barn and warn Sturgis."  
  
Hannah had already dusted her hands on her apron and wrapped a shawl from the mending basket around her shoulders. She was out the back door at the same moment, Mac was headed for the front. 


	6. Chap 6

Dec 29, 1863 Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, MS  
  
Mac straightened her clothes as best she could. She was wearing a simple rust colored wool skirt, and a plain white shirt, but both were wrinkled beyond hope. She pulled on a natural brown wool shawl and tucked her loose hair behind her ears before she opened the front door.  
  
"Harriet, Bud," she said surprised, more by the soot stains on her friends' clothes than at her presence, "What's wrong?"  
  
"May we please come in, Mac?" Bud asked, his voice hoarse.  
  
"Yes, yes of course," Mac said, as she held the door open for them. Harriet walked though first, carrying the crying baby AJ in her arms, her own tears wetting her cheeks. Bud followed his wife and son, and finally, Mac went in, locking the door behind them.  
  
Harriet waited for Mac to come forward into the foyer and lead them on. Mac came up to her friend, and placed her hand on her arm. "Harriet, what happen?"  
  
Tears were the only answer Harriet could muster, so Mac led them back to the kitchen where it was warm and cheerful. She settled Harriet at the table, sitting next to Bud, and she found AJ a pecan muffin to eat. Little AJ was soon contentedly sitting by the hearth munching away, and Mac had brought Harriet a strong cup of tea and Bud a strong cup of coffee.  
  
"What happened?" Mac asked again, now fearing the worst.  
  
"They burned it," Harriet whispered, "All of it."  
  
"Your home?" Mac gasped completely shocked, "Who? When?"  
  
"They burned everything last night and this morning," Bud finally said, his eyes distant, "The house, the barn, the fields, everything."  
  
"Oh, my God," Mac said, "Was anyone hurt?"  
  
Bud shook his head, "No, we got all the hands out in time, but we lost the animals. It was all so fast. At first, we thought it might be an accident, but then everything went up in flames."  
  
"I'm so sorry, Bud," Mac said reaching across the table to comfort him.  
  
"We think it was a group of confederates," Harriet said weakly, "You know Bud's sensibilities, his support of the union, hasn't brought us many friends. We think they've finally had enough. And with the battle going so well for them, I think they were pushed too far."  
  
"Well, that sheriff with have to do something," Mac said, but the moment she'd said it she knew the sheriff would do nothing at all.  
  
"What, Mic Brumby?" Bud asked incredulously, "He was probably there. He wouldn't track down the men who burned our home if he could get fifty slaves for it. Maybe for a hundred he'd do it."  
  
Harriet shot Bud and warning glance, and he became quiet. But Mac heartily agreed with him, though she wouldn't have said so out loud. Harriet gave him another meaningful look, and Bud pinched his face, as though readying himself for some practiced speech.  
  
"Mac, I hate to ask anything of you, for your uncle has given us so much already," he began, "But we need a place to stay. Harriet is in no condition to travel, and I doubt anyone else would take us in."  
  
"Bud, you didn't have to ask. You're welcome here, whenever you have need," Mac replied, but then her eyes widened with sudden comprehension and joy, "Harriet, are you." "Yes, I'm in a rather delicate condition, Mac," Harriet said through her tears, though she couldn't bring herself to smile, but Mac made up for that for her.  
  
Mac laughed out loud, like a giddy schoolgirl. "Harriet, I can't believe you didn't tell me. I'm so happy for you. Congratulations to both of you."  
  
Neither Bud nor Harriet could resist smiling at Mac's infectious smile and laughter. Just then, Hannah returned from the barn. "Ah, Mr. Roberts, Mrs. Roberts," she said before noticing that they were smudged with soot, "What in blazes happened?"  
  
"Poor choice of words there, Hannah," Bud said grimly.  
  
"Hannah, the a group of Confederate sympathizers burned the Roberts' home and farm last night," Mac informed her, and Hannah crossed herself saying 'God forbid', "Yes, Hannah. So, they'll be staying with us for a while."  
  
"Ah," Hannah said, her eyebrows raised and a weak smile on her face. Mac immediately caught her meaning, and her own eyes widened.  
  
"Um, Bud, Harriet, I have to tell you a few things that are very important if you're going to be staying here," she said facing her friends. But when she saw their filthy faces and ruined clothes she said, "But it can wait until you've had a chance to wash and change. Come, I'll show up to your room."  
  
Harriet bent and gathered AJ into her arms, and then Mac lead them up two flights of stairs to the third floor of the plantation house. They came off the steps in the sitting room, off of which were three bedrooms: the North room, which was Mac's, the West room, which was occupied by Lt. Rabb, and the East room.  
  
"You can stay in the East Room," Mac told them as she led them through the door and into the room. When the entered the room. Bud put the small carpetbag containing all he and Harriet had managed to salvage onto the table at that far side of the room, facing the road. Mac walked briskly around opening the draperies. Harriet placed little AJ on the bed and began to undress him.  
  
When Mac had finished opening the draperies, she turned to Bud and Harriet and said, "I'll go and find you both some clean clothes. The powder and washrooms are straight across the landing on the other side of the stairs. There are fresh towel and dressing gowns in the wardrobe. Why don't you three get cleaned up and I'll have those clothed ready for you by the time you're done." And with that she was gone.  
  
"I wonder what she has to tell us," But said, as he began to unpack the carpetbag. 


	7. Chap 7

Dec 29, 1863- dinnertime Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, MS  
  
By dinnertime that night, Mac had settled Harriet, Bud and little AJ, prepared and administered the draft for Lt. Rabb, and had actually had time to sleep for an hour and eat. However, she still had to tell the Roberts about the fugitive family that was hiding in her house, and the union soldier she was nursing back to health. She came to dinner dressed in the same rust colored skirt and white shirt she'd worn all day. And when she reached the kitchen, she was greeted by Gunny, Hannah, the Roberts', and, to her surprise, Sturgis.  
  
"Mac," Bud said as he, Gunny and Sturgis all rose from their seats, "Sturgis has just been telling us how the two of you met."  
  
"Well, it's an interesting story, isn't it," she said, motioning for them all to retake their seats, and giving Sturgis a dirty look, "There are probably some details he's leaving out."  
  
"Actually, Mac, my account has been completely thorough," Sturgis assured her, "I'm just getting to the part in Jackson, where you bought my liberty."  
  
Mac poured herself some milk, before she said, "You're almost finished with the story, why don't you finish it."  
  
Bud and Harriet returned their attention to Sturgis, as Mac walked around the table and into the root cellar beneath the stairs. Sturgis, who knew what she was up to, continued his story, nonetheless. "So, Mac was there, at the slave auction. She was just fifteen then. Her uncle AJ had left her alone with his purse, and she used the money to buy me from my former master. She was so angry with the crowd's treatment of me and the other slaves, that she set me free in front of the entire crowd," he told them.  
  
"That sounds just like her," Bud said smiling.  
  
"She was just fifteen," Harriet said disbelieving, "I would never have had the courage to do something like that at that age."  
  
"It took a lot more courage that I think even I had. She stood there in front of that crowd of slave traders, as they booed and harassed her. She refused to acknowledge them; instead, she walked me right over to the Jackson Town Hall, where she had the papers drawn up, securing my freedom."  
  
Bud and Harriet were still staring at Sturgis in shock when Mac reappeared out of the root cellar, followed by the fugitive family. The family hung back behind her, as she faced the Roberts.  
  
"Bud, Harriet, I'd like you to meet the Gibsons. This is Ezekiel, Margaret, Isaac, and Minnie," she told them introducing each person. Then, she swallowed and continued, "They're fugitive slaves, travelling the Underground Railroad."  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence in the room for a moment before Bud jumped up from his seat and came to Mac and shook her hand wholeheartedly  
  
"Mac, you could have trusted us with this," he said smiling.  
  
"I didn't want to tell anyone at the risk of being discovered. The fewer people who knew the safer it would be," she told them, "Sturgis is their conductor."  
  
Bud and Harriet both looked at Sturgis and then back at Mac, who was now shooing the Gibsons into seats at the dinner table. Little AJ was thrilled at the prospect of having more children around, even if they were quite a bit older than he was.  
  
"You see, the rest of the story is that Mac gave me my freedom, but I chose to use it to help free other slaves," Sturgis said, "As soon as Mac's uncle was called to service, I contacted her, and she stepped in as a stationmaster. That was two years ago, and now, we've successfully helped nearly twenty families get into the North and onto Canada."  
  
Bud shook his head. "You know, Mac," he said ruefully, but he was smiling, "I think you may have been more effective in your secret pursuits that I have in my public ones."  
  
"Bud, there's more," Mac said, but she wasn't able to finish her explanation because at that moment, Bobbi came bursting into the room.  
  
"Mac, he's shaking all over, and I don't know what to do," she said crazily, and Mac bolted from where she was standing and ran up the back stairs.  
  
"Who is?" Bud asked, and Bobbi sat down to calm her nerves and explain all about Lt. Rabb and how Mac was helping him. She had just finished telling them the smaller details of the story when Mac yelled down the stairs for her to come quickly with hot water, bandages, her kit and Sturgis.  
  
Sturgis helped Bobbi to carry the kit and other supplies up the three flights of stairs to the West room, where Lt. Rabb lay. Bud followed at their heels. When they reached the room, they same Mac laying over the soldier, trying to stop him from shaking.  
  
"It's the fever," she said, and Sturgis and Bud came to help hold him down, "It's caused his body to spasm. I've got to give him something for it."  
  
She flung open her kit, and pulled out a bottle. She poured a few drops of the solution into a cup of water, and then, holding his mouth open with one hand she poured the liquid into his mouth, waiting for him to swallow it. After a few tries, he finally drank the medicine. A few minutes later, his body was calm again.  
  
"Now, Bobbi help me," she said, "I've got to look at that wound again."  
  
Sturgis raised Rabb's upper body so Mac and Bobbi could cut off the bandages. When the bandages and poultice fell away from his shoulder, they could all see the angry wound was swollen and full of pus.  
  
Mac swallowed hard, and Bobbi had to turn away in order to prevent herself from being sick. "It's alright," Mac assured her, "It means that the infection is working its way out. I've just got to help it a little."  
  
Mac opened the whiskey bottle she'd used the night before and cleaned her hands, and the tools she was going to use. Bobbi tied a fresh apron around Mac's waist, and then she stepped up to use the chloroform as she had before. Mac handed her the cloth and the bottle. "You remember what to do?"  
  
"'One drop a minute, enough to lightly soak the cloth, but not enough to drip through'," Bobbi quoted, and Mac nodded seriously.  
  
As soon as she was sure the soldier was under, Mac washed away the pus, and cut the stitches out of the wound. The inside of the wound was just as ugly as the outside, and Mac went about cleaning it in much the same way. She used hot water and whiskey to wash out the infection. The cleaning had caused the wound to bleed again, but she stanched the bleeding and then re- stitched the wound. She motioned to Bobbi that she could stop the chloroform drip, and then Bobbi helped her to apply a plain, clean bandage to cover the wound. When she finished wrapping the wound, it was dark outside, and everyone around her sat in wonder at what she had just done.  
  
She stood back from the bed a moment, and then she turned to the others in the room. Bud sat in a chair near the window; Sturgis stood at the foot of the bed, and Bobbi opposite her. She tried to smile weakly at them, "Why don't you all go down and eat your dinner?"  
  
They all looked up at her unbelieving. How could she even think that they would leave her alone after what she'd just done? Bobbi immediately came around the bed and began to clean and organize the medical kit, while Sturgis had begun to straighten the blankets over Lt. Rabb. Bud, meanwhile, had come to Mac's side, and helped her to the pitcher and basin, which held clean water. Mac was so tired that she was grateful for his help in getting her apron off and helping her to wash the blood off her hands.  
  
When everything was put back in order, Mac's hands cleaned, and Lt. Rabb resting, all four of them returned to the kitchen. Sturgis carrying the kit, Mac behind him, Bobbi following behind her supporting her, and Bud in the rear.  
  
When they reached the kitchen they found Harriet and Margaret sitting with the mending, listening to Mr. Gibson read from one of the novels Mac had left in the kitchen for all of the battle had begun. Mr. Gibson was a fine actor, and he was taking advantage of the novel's many characters, by stretching his voice into the different parts. Mac smiled, as she sat down at the table to listen. She looked over the kitchen: Gunny sat tuning his guitar, Hannah rocked sleepily in her rocking chair, and Bobbi and Sturgis sat opposite next to each other listening to Mr. Gibson. Bud sat down beside Harriet and patted her stomach lovingly. Isaac and Minnie were playing with little AJ near the hearth, and lulled by their giggles, Mac drifted off into well-deserved sleep. 


	8. Chap 8

Dec 30, 1863- breakfast Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, MS  
  
Mac awoke in her own bed, but she was unsure how she had gotten there. The last thing she remembered was Mr. Gibson reading aloud in the kitchen. 'I must have fallen asleep,' she though, 'And they carried me up three flights to my bed.'  
  
She folded back her blankets, and wrapped a warm grey wool shawl around her shoulders before she ventured out onto the landing. The door to the East room, or rather the Roberts' room was still closed, and Mac took that to mean that they were still asleep. So, she padded silently across the landing to the West room, where Lt. Rabb was, hopefully, sleeping. She pushed open the door and was relieved to see Bobbi sitting and knitting by his bedside.  
  
"Good morning to ya, Miss Sarah," Bobbi said brightly, "You were dog tired last night, so Harriet and I dressed you for bed. I hope you don't mind."  
  
"I don't mind at all," Mac replied, as she came into the room. "How is he?"  
  
"He's slept peacefully all night," Bobbi told her, "Hasn't moved at all, except to breath and say the name 'Diane', though I have no idea why."  
  
"Yes, he said her name yesterday," Mac said, "I believe that 'Diane' is a some old love of his."  
  
Bobbi raised her eyebrows, and then she said, "Well, you should bathe. Because, frankly, dear, you smell like a doctor."  
  
Mac looked at Bobbi sternly, "You mean I smell like blood."  
  
"No, you smell like everything a doctor smells like," Bobbi corrected, "Soap, sweat, medicine, herbs, and, yes, blood."  
  
Mac smiled. She remembered the smell; her father had always come home from his office with the same smell, which was probably why Mac hadn't noticed it on herself. She kissed Bobbi softly on the cheek and then she left the room, and crossed the landing to the powder and wash room.  
  
She sat for a long time in the scented water of the bathtub, soaking up the warmth. But when she finished, she dried herself quickly and returned to her room to dress for the day. Out of her dressed she pulled out a plain white chemise and her corset. She slipped the chemise on and pulled on her corset, she never laced it tighter than her figure would allow her to do so comfortably, for there was no good reason why she should have to force herself to faint in the name of fashion. In fact, the only reason she even wore her corset was so she would be decently supported. She followed the chemise and corset with a plain white wool petticoat, over which she pulled on her hoops. As her last under garment, she put on a fine muslin petticoat.  
  
Next, she set about selecting a skirt and shirt for the day. She picked a plain brown wool skirt, a white shirt, and a thick leather belt, with a large buckle. By the time she was completely dressed her hair, which reached almost to her waist, was almost dry. She braided it down her back, and secured it with a bit of leather. She paused only briefly to look at her reflection in the mirror, and she looked that same as she did every day. She smiled at herself, and then she opened her door, and stepped out ready for the day.  
  
She bumped right into Harriet, who was wearing a dressing gown, on her way back to her room from the powder room. Little AJ was toddling behind her.  
  
"Good morning, Harriet," Mac said cheerfully, "Hello, AJ. How are you this morning?"  
  
"An' Mac," AJ babbled as Mac scooped him up in her arms.  
  
"I take it you slept well, then," Harriet replied, matching Mac's cheerful tone.  
  
Mac smiled at her friend, and asked, "Do you need clothes?"  
  
"Actually, I was just going to ask you if I could borrow another chemise and shirt from you," Harriet admitted.  
  
"You can borrow anything you like from my wardrobe," Mac assured her as she looped Harriet's arm in hers. "Come on, we can pick something out together."  
  
Mac helped Harriet to find a chemise, petticoats, and simple, forest green skirt and a mint green button down shirt. While she helped his mother dress, little AJ played with the clothes in the Mac's bottom drawer. In the few minutes it took to get Harriet dressed in the simple attire, AJ had managed to empty the drawer and throw its contents all around the room.  
  
"Oh, AJ, no," Harriet tried to scold him, "You shouldn't play with those."  
  
"It's alright, Harriet," Mac said, "Let's fix your hair."  
  
"Now, really, Mac you needn't fuss over me," Harriet warned.  
  
"I'm not fussing," Mac defended, "And even if I was, I rarely get the chance, so you should let me fuss over you. Besides, I'm just going to braid it."  
  
"I can do that," Harriet said.  
  
"No, you just sit down," Mac said cheerfully, knowing she had won the debate and Harriet sat down at the vanity. Mac did more than just braid her hair the way she had done her own. She braided Harriet's into a oval that wound around that back of her head. Mac was also sure to leave a few strands of Harriet's hair loose from the braid, giving her a soft, young look.  
  
"Oh, Mac, it's lovely," Harriet said when she saw the final result in the mirror. Just then, little AJ scuttled out of the room. "Albert Jethro, come back here this minute."  
  
Harriet and Mac both made for the door, and when they reached it that dashed out onto the landing. They stopped abruptly when they saw Bud, fully dressed and clean-shaven, already holding the escapee.  
  
"AJ you listen to mother next time," Bud was scolding him playfully.  
  
"Oh, Bud, stop," Harriet reprimanded him, "You're encouraging him."  
  
Bud gave her an apologetic look and she smiled back at him. "Come here, AJ," she said as she collected her rambunctious son, "Let's get you dressed. We'll see you down stairs."  
  
Mac watched longingly as Bud patted his son on the arm, and kissed his wife. Outwardly, Mac was completely happy being strong and independent, even if that wasn't normal for her contemporaries. Inwardly, though, she envied Harriet's happy marriage and her beautiful son.  
  
"Some day, Mac. Some day," Bud said understanding the look on her face. Mac made a little smile, and then Bud said, "Come on, I'm sure Hannah has a delicious breakfast waiting for us."  
  
Mac smiled more broadly, and she led Bud down the stairs. As they were descending the second staircase, Mac saw through the front window that a man she really didn't want to see, was walking briskly up the garden walk to the front door.  
  
"Bud," she whispered urgently, "Go to the kitchen and tell Hannah to protect the family."  
  
Bud looked questioningly at her, but Mac shook her head. "She'll know," Mac whispered, "Go."  
  
Bud nodded and hurried back toward the kitchen, just as the knock came at the front door. Mac rolled her eyes heavenward, straightened her shirt and belt, and then opened the door. It swung open and standing before her was Mic Brumby. 


	9. Chap 9

"Mr. Brumby," Mac greeted him formally, "What brings you out to Sweetfern so early?"  
  
"Good morning, Miss Mackenzie," he said with equal formality, but he was looking over her shoulder and into the house, "I trust I find you well."  
  
"Yes, I am quite well, thank you," Mac replied catching his eye. She tried to keep her tone neutral as she asked, "What can I do for you, Mr. Brumby?"  
  
"As you may have heard, Bud Roberts' farm was burned to the ground the night before last," Brumby said, "I'm looking for Mr. Roberts and I thought you might know where he is."  
  
"The Roberts are staying with me, as a matter of fact," she told him, just as Harriet came down the stair.  
  
"Ah, Mrs. Roberts, good morning," Brumby greeted her, his voice think with false condolences.  
  
Harriet's eyes blazed as she replied coldly, "Not at all, Mr. Brumby. Please excuse me."  
  
Harriet turned and walked straight back into the kitchen. Mac looked back at Brumby and saw that her friend's cold reply hadn't shaken him. She cleared her throat and asked, "Would you like to come into the parlor for a moment?"  
  
"I'd love to, thank you," he replied and walked past her into the house. He looked left, through the door to the dining room, down the hall into the kitchen, and he finally passed through the door into the parlor.  
  
"If you'll just wait here a moment," Mac said motioning him toward a chair, "I'll return with refreshment."  
  
"You ought to have someone to do that for you, Sarah," he said condescendingly, "It's not right for you to do such work."  
  
Mac looked him in the eye, and said, "Perhaps, but then what work would I do?" And she left the room.  
  
Mac entered the kitchen where Bud and Harriet sat with AJ eating muffins. Mac pulled a tray down from one of the many shelves, and began to place a plate of muffins, a pot of coffee and two cups on it.  
  
"Make it three," Bud said, "You shouldn't have to deal with that man alone."  
  
Mac smiled at the gesture, knowing how much Bud hated Brumby. "Thank you, Bud. I think I can handle him."  
  
"Nonsense, Sarah," Harriet said, and then she smiled, "Besides, you need a chaperone. Mr. Brumby is technically a suitor."  
  
"Please, Harriet, don't remind me," Mac said as she added a third cup to the tray, "He did want to see you, Bud."  
  
Bud followed Mac back to the parlor, and held the door open for her a she carried the tray in. Brumby rose from the seat he had taken near the fireplace. Mac placed the tray down on a side table and then turned to introduce the two men, as formality required.  
  
"Mr. Brumby, I believe you already know Mr. Roberts," she said. Neither man moved the shake hands with the other. Instead, they regarded each other at a distance, each with an expression of distrust and dislike.  
  
"Mr. Brumby," Bud finally said in a tone that would have matched his wife's.  
  
"Mr. Roberts," Brumby replied, and after a long pause when the only sound they heard was Mac pouring coffee, he said, "I understand that your farm burnt to the ground a few nights past. How did that happen?"  
  
Bud's face was drawn with the tension of repressed anger as he replied, "A group of twenty or so men set fire to it."  
  
"How do you know?" Brumby asked haughtily. Mac had to bite her tongue so she wouldn't spit in the tea she serving him.  
  
"My wife and I saw them running away from the farm as it burned," Bud replied.  
  
"Those men could have been your own, ah, servants fleeing the blaze," Brumby rounded, stumbling over using the term 'servant' instead of 'slave'.  
  
Mac passed Bud his cup of coffee, and giving him a reassuring smile and nod, took her seat between the two men.  
  
"I suppose that's one opinion, Mr. Brumby," Bud said tightly.  
  
"Mr. Brumby," Mac said as brightly as she could, trying to divert Brumby, "Surely, you didn't make the trip out to Sweetfern just to interview Mr. Roberts."  
  
Brumby smiled at her and then he drank all of his coffee before he said, "Actually, I came to Sweetfern to deliver an invitation. Sarah, would attend the Griffith's New Year's Eve party with me tomorrow night?"  
  
"You are very kind to ask, Mr. Brumby," she answered, "But I'm afraid I can't. I've already arranged a small party here for the Roberts and my hands."  
  
Brumby's head jerked when she mentioned that her hands would be attending. "Your hands?" he asked surprised. "Just your white hands, sure."  
  
"No, all of the workers," she explained.  
  
Brumby looked completely taken aback. "You're hosting a party, in your home, where whites will celebrate with Negros?"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Brumby," Mac said smiling. She knew the effect her words had on Brumby, but she enjoyed pretending that she didn't. "They work just as hard as I do all year round, and sometimes harder. They deserve to celebrate as well."  
  
Brumby's face was the very picture of disbelief, but his astonishment turned to anger. "Miss Mackenzie, there are people in this community who won't appreciate that," he said in a dangerous tone. "You may want to reconsider."  
  
Mac continued to display her formal, yet innocent appearance even though she heard and understood the threat in his words. "I know that the community may not understand," she said sweetly, "But the people who work on this farm are my friends and neighbors, and I will enjoy the coming of the New Year with them."  
  
Brumby shook his head and rose from his seat. "Miss Mackenzie, if that is the case, I must take my leave of you," he said and he bowed formally toward her. He didn't acknowledge Bud.  
  
He was almost out of the parlor when he turned back. He walked briskly back to where Bud and Mac were now standing. "I almost forgot this," he said, holding out a letter to Mac. Then, he turned and strode out of the room, down the hall and out of the house.  
  
"How I loathe that man," Bud said, and he shared a knowing look with Mac.  
  
But Mac wasn't looking at him. She had sat down, and was now staring at the letter Brumby. She looked up at Bud, who nodded and left her to read it alone. 


	10. Chap 10

"Dec. 3, 1863 New York, New York  
  
My dearest Sarah, I am sorry that I have been so long delayed. My journey had been most successful and I shall be returning to you and AJ shortly. I seem to have caught a dreadful cough while staying here in New York. The streets are filthy; one could grow a garden in the dirt one finds in one's clothes at the end of the day.  
  
Your letters finally reached me. I must say that I was not surprised to learn that you are not content living with AJ. I wish there was something I could do for you to ease that discomfort; however, your father did appoint him your guardian until you reach twenty-five. I know you disagree with his sensibilities as much as I do, but for now you must bide your time.  
  
I trust you have turned his household upside down since he left for the war. I cannot wait to return and see all that you have done to it. I long for the quiet of the front porch and your beautiful rose garden. My sister, your mother, God rest her soul, had quite a talent with flowers. Each time I see you, I am reminded more and more of her.  
  
Give my regards to Hannah, Gunny and Sturgis, if you still keep contact with him. And greetings to the Roberts', a family I cannot wait to meet, you mention them so happily. I love you, dearest. Your loving Uncle, Matthew O'Hara"  
  
Mac dropped the letter into her lap and sat staring into the fire. She thought about the fact that her own Uncle couldn't come to take her away from this place- this gilded cage. Mac adored the people she lived with and worked around, but she wanted to get away from the chores that were smothering her spirit, to see the world like her Uncle Matt. Tears of frustration had come to her eyes, but she stubbornly blinked them back.  
  
"Miss Sarah, are you alright?"  
  
Mac looked up and saw Bobbi standing beside her. "Yes," she replied, shaken from her reverie, "I'm fine."  
  
"You don't fool me for a second," Bobbi said quietly, "I've known you for many years now."  
  
Mac smiled admittedly as she looked into the eyes of her friend, and Bobbi continued, "You've been working non-stop and only slept a few good hours in the last two days."  
  
Mac nodded, and rose from the chair, putting the letter in her apron pocket. "You've slept less than I have. I'll be up to treat our patient in a few minutes. I've got to speak with Mr. Gibson first."  
  
Bobbi nodded and patted Mac's arm affectionately.  
  
Mac walked into the kitchen to discover Hannah at the stove, Gunny sitting on the corner of the table eating a muffin, and Harriet sat in a rocking chair near the hearth watching little AJ play. Bud had already opened the passage door and the Gibsons were all sitting at the table.  
  
"Mr. Gibson, may I speak with you for a moment," she asked quietly.  
  
Mr. Gibson nodded at his wife, and then followed Mac into the side hall, and when they were out of earshot of the children, he said, "It's tonight, then?"  
  
Mac nodded solemnly. "Yes. I don't think it's safe for you to stay her any longer. The battle is over and it'll be safe. Sturgis will accompany you to the next station, but when you get there, you'll change conductors."  
  
Mr. Gibson nodded. "Miss Mackenzie, I don't know how to thank you."  
  
Mac held up her hand, and smiled. "It's been my privilege, Mr. Gibson."  
  
That night, long after the Roberts' were asleep, Mac said goodbye the family. A downpour had started and Mac gave each of them and untreated wool coat, which would keep them dry. After they had donned the jackets, they each said farewell. It wasn't an emotional farewell, for the Gibsons knew that they had a long, dangerous journey still ahead of them. Sturgis assured Mac that he would return before dawn, and with that they all disappeared into the night. 


	11. Chap 11

Early Morning Dec 31, 1863 Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, MS  
  
When Sturgis returned as he had promised, Mac had finally gone to bed. It seemed to her that she'd only slept a few minutes, when she woke again. She dressed quickly, in another simple brown skirt and a cream shirt, before she went down to the kitchen for a breakfast of tea and porridge.  
  
She'd just finished eating when the Roberts joined her. "What are you doing up so early?" Mac asked.  
  
"It's after seven," Harriet said brightly, placing little AJ on her lap as she sat down beside Mac.  
  
Bud got together breakfast for his family, and then took a seat next to Harriet. Mac watched quietly as they at together as a family. He mind drifted back the dreams she had once had of having her own family. Ever since she was a little girl she'd dreamt of having a family, a family different from her own.  
  
"Mac," Harriet said, touching her arm.  
  
"Hmm," Mac answered.  
  
"I just asked what we can do to help prepare for tonight?" Harriet said.  
  
"Um, actually, I think everything's covered," she replied, but just then Hannah came down the stairs interrupting the conversation.  
  
"Miss Sarah, you'd better get up to the West room," she said casting a wary look at her, "That lieutenant is acting up, and Bobbi's having a hard time controlling him."  
  
Mac rose immediately, and taking the stairs two at a time, arrived in the West room on the third floor in almost no time. She pushed open the door, and saw Bobbi struggling to hold the lieutenant down.  
  
"No, you've got to stay put, Lieutenant. You'll hurt yourself even more," Bobbi was trying to explain.  
  
"You can't keep me here," he said loudly, still struggling, but Mac seeing that he was about the jump out of bed, rushed across the room, flung herself on top of him. She pinned his shoulders down, careful not to apply pressure to his wound, and knelt beside him, causing the hoops of her skirt to collapse and flatten.  
  
"Look, I'm not about to let you ruin all the hard work I put into that shoulder, Lieutenant," she said crossly, "It's too soon for you to be moving about."  
  
He fell back against the pillows; all the color drained from face. His breathing quickened. "Diane?" he asked breathless, just before he passed out from the exertion.  
  
Mac took her hands from his shoulders, and slid off the bed. Bobbi stood shakily beside her. "Mac, I didn't know what to do," she explain, "He just woke up and kept saying that he had to leave."  
  
Mac nodded. "I think the fever may have broken overnight," she said examining the wound and the wet sheets around his shoulders, "Yesterday's rest was good for him."  
  
"Then, why did he just faint?" Bobbi asked.  
  
"I don't know," Mac said, "The exertion was probably too much, too soon. He'll wake again soon. Would you go down and have Hannah bring up some breakfast for him?"  
  
Bobbi nodded and turned to leave, but Mac stopped her and said, "Then, you should get some decent sleep."  
  
Bobbi smiled, and disappeared through the door. Mac went about the room and lit the lamps, for it was too dangerous to open the curtains and reveal that there was a sick man lying in the room. As soon as she could see properly, she turned back to tending the lieutenant. For the first time since he'd arrived, she allowed herself to really look at him.  
  
Despite his faint, his skin had recovered enough of its color for her to see that he was tanned, like most of the other soldiers. His hair was unkempt and his cheeks and chin unshaven, but he was still unmistakably handsome. He looked to be a few years older than she was, maybe twenty- five years old.  
  
His eyelids began to shudder as Mac removed the old bandage from his shoulder. She bent her head and looked closely at the wound. It was no longer yellow from infection, but healthy red. Thankfully, they stitches hadn't been ripped out by his activity, and hopefully, in another couple of days he'd be up and moving again.  
  
While Mac had been examining the wound, Harm's eyes had fluttered open. He remembered seeing her face just before he passed out, but this time, he looked at her more closely. He observed the wild way her long hair hung over her shoulder in a single loose braid. How she moved with a strength and grace as she bandaged his shouldered. She looked so much like.  
  
"Diane," he whispered, "Am I dead?"  
  
Mac's head shot up, and she looked into his deep eyes. "No, you're alive," she finally told him, "You're in friendly hands."  
  
He blinked. "Friendly hands," he repeated, a silly grin on his face, "Come on, Diane. We were more than friends."  
  
Mac put her hand to his forehead, and she felt the heat radiating from it. His fever hadn't broken as she had hoped. She turned away from him and when she turned back she pressed a cold cloth to his forehead.  
  
"Mm," he groaned, "That feels much better."  
  
Mac continued to dab at his face and throat, all the while he talked to her as if she was Diane.  
  
"Remember the day we went met in Maryland?" he said dreamily, "You were with your brother. He was so protective when he discovered I intended to." His eyes suddenly opened and he looked at in a way that broke her heart. "What happened that day? I've never been able to find out how you. how you."  
  
Mac's eyes widened in sad comprehension, as what he must be thinking dawned on her. He thought that she was his dead lover come back to guide him into heaven or to keep him company until he was better.  
  
He became pensive, wondering why this apparition wasn't answering his questions. "Diane, won't you speak to me?"  
  
"Lieutenant," she began, but she stopped when Hannah came into the room carrying the tray of breakfast. She got up to help her with it.  
  
"Diane, wait," he called urgently.  
  
"I'm not leaving, lieutenant," Mac told him softly, "I'm just preparing your breakfast."  
  
"Who's Diane?" Hannah asked, giving Mac a shrewd look.  
  
Mac shrugged. "I think she's an old love of his. He thinks he sees her, in me."  
  
Hannah nodded sympathetically. "Must be the fever talking." And as Mac nodded, she left.  
  
Mac picked up the bowl and spoon and returned to the bedside. She placed the bowl on the bedside table, and reached over to him.  
  
"I've got to raise you up so that you can eat. This may hurt," she warned him softly. "Put your good arm around my neck." He raised put his arm about her neck, and she slipped her arm beneath his neck. She raised him, and he groaned in pain. Mac tried to settle the pillows behind him as quickly as she could.  
  
When she guided him back down onto them, he collapsed against the pillows. He was breathing hard, and new sweat had burst onto his forehead. "Diane, what happened to me?" 


	12. Chap 12

Mac sat beside him. She put the bowl of porridge down in her lap and looked tenderly at him. "You were wounded in a battle a few days ago," she said delicately, "A friend brought you here to my home, where I've been treating you."  
  
He looked at her as if for the first time. His eyes widened and then he squeezed them tightly shut. Behind his eyelids, his eyes moved frantically. Memories of the previous night flooded his mind; he could smell the mist of the bayou, feel the cold water on his feet, see the trunks of the ancient trees. Then, he felt the searing pain of the bullet that had pierced his shoulder, the strong arms of the man who had carried him out of the swamps. His eyes snapped open, and he caught Mac's again.  
  
"That night," he gasped, "It was you. the surgeon, that was you."  
  
Mac nodded, still looking at him.  
  
"Where am I?" he asked, his tone becoming more even and dangerous.  
  
Mac noticed the change in his demeanor, but she wasn't surprised. "You're at Sweetfern Farm, in Kirkwood, Mississippi," she said.  
  
"And who are you?" His tone had now become menacing.  
  
"My name is Sarah Mackenzie," she said, her own manner becoming defensive even though she knew he was reacting the way anyone who felt threatened would. She lifted the bowl, but he thrust hid good arm out and swatted the bowl out of her hand. It crashed to the floor. "What do you think you're doing?" Mac asked angrily.  
  
Harm was struggling to throw off the blankets and raise himself out of the bed. Mac quickly pinned his shoulders back against the pillow, again remembering not to put too much pressure on his wound.  
  
"Let me up," he demanded.  
  
"No, you're not ready to be moving yet," Mac told him, "Hold still or you'll damage that shoulder even more."  
  
He continued to struggle, and he was now using his legs to try to lever himself away from her. Mac was becoming annoyed. She was already exhausted from the last few days, and she didn't need this. She threw one of her legs over his, straddling his legs, and causing the hoops of her skirt to collapse and flatten.  
  
Harm was still fighting her, but he was growing weaker. The sweat was now pouring down his face. He began to tire; his shoulder burned with pain, and his head was beginning to spin.  
  
"Now, look," Mac said irritably, "I'm not moving until you stop struggling. I'm not going to let you ruin all the hard work I've put into that shoulder, lieutenant."  
  
Her words had the opposite effect. He renewed his struggle and Mac could see new blood staining the bandage at his shoulder. She was livid, and she pushed him back against the pillows aggressively. Harm was so stunned, that he stopped struggling immediately, but he soon recovered and renewed his struggle  
  
"I won't lay here and let you work your southern excuse for medicine on me," he spat through his teeth.  
  
As she felt him struggle beneath her, and Mac finally lost her temper. All of the emotion she'd been holding inside her for the last three days burst forth. "You know, I've heard that Yankees are stubborn, thankless, disrespectful upstarts," she exclaimed angrily, "If you have such a low opinion of my methods, you're free to leave. I'm sure the nearest Confederate hospital has a bed available."  
  
She wouldn't actually give him up to the Confederates, but she was so angry at that moment that the threat slipped out. Harm stopped struggling, in part because his shoulder was now painfully stinging, in part because he had no desire to end up in Confederate hands, but mostly because he was rather taken by this odd, yet beautiful woman who now sat atop him.  
  
He studied her for a moment, observing her angry eyes as they blazed at him. He could feel the strength in her arms and legs, which was unusual for a woman, in the way she pinned him to the bed. He suddenly became aware that it was her thighs immobilizing his, and he knew he had to get her off of him.  
  
"If I agree to lie still, will you get off of me?" he asked her.  
  
Mac glared at him as if she was an angry mother scolding her misbehaving child. "You must allow me to repair your shoulder," she told him, still pinning him down, "Again. And you'll stay here until I decide that you're ready to leave. Then, you'll be free to go wherever you choose. Deal?"  
  
Harm considered her offer. He looked up at her, and she looked straight back at him. He'd never seen such nerve in a woman before. He looked down, and nodded almost imperceptibly.  
  
"Is that a yes?" Mac pushed. She wasn't going to let him out of answering her directly.  
  
He still would not look at her. What Mac didn't know what that he wasn't looking at her not because he didn't want to answer her directly. He was trying to save face. Every moment that she continued to sit astride him, the more ardent he felt. It was strange for him to find that this overbearing woman had that effect on him. "Yes, I agree," he said looking toward the curtained window.  
  
Mac released the pressure from his shoulders and crawled off of him. Instantly, the pressure at his injured shoulder was replaced with the searing pain. Harm squeezed his eyes tightly and drew his teeth together to stop from crying out.  
  
"I know it hurts," Mac said tenderly, "Let me look."  
  
She pulled back the bandage and wasn't surprised to see that the stitches she'd inspected just minutes before were now torn out of his mending flesh. "You know, every time that I have to re-stitch this, the more chance there is of infection," she told him shaking her head.  
  
"How many times have you stitched it?" he asked.  
  
"Twice," she answered, as she walked over to her medical kit, "So far. This'll be the third time."  
  
Harm swallowed. "Do you have to do it again?"  
  
Mac, with her back to him, smiled to herself. The idea such a strong looking man could be afraid of stitches was rather comical. Then, again. Immediately, Mac's face became somber at some distant, painful memory.  
  
When she turned back to him, Harm didn't notice her face, but he did see that she was carrying a bottle of whiskey. "You're going to get me drunk first?" he asked, an impish grin spreading on his face.  
  
Mac couldn't resist smiling back. "Take a swig of this," she ordered. "I'm going downstairs to get help."  
  
"Help?"  
  
She raised her eyes to him. Her eyes, which had been blazing with anger before, were now filled with tender compassion. "I can't mend your wound and hold you down at that same time."  
  
Harm nodded solemnly. "I think I'll take that drink," he said and he took the bottle from her.  
  
Mac returned a few minutes later with Bud, Sturgis and Harriet. The experience that followed was one Harriet had never had before, and one that she would never forget. Mac didn't want to give him more chloroform; she was afraid that he'd had too much over the last few days. So, Bud and Sturgis held his shoulders down firmly, while Mac sewed the wound shut again. Harriet had helped her into her apron, and now stood next to Bud. She reached out and took Harm's hand in hers.  
  
"Lieutenant, look at me," she said in her motherly voice, and when he raised his eyes to hers she could see the childlike fear in them. She took his hand in hers and ran her fingers over his knuckles and fingers. "What's your name?" she asked.  
  
"Harm," he answered almost whispering.  
  
"Harm, you just look at me, and squeeze my hand if you need to," she told him gently.  
  
Mac stepped up to his side. She was wearing her white apron and she was holding the sterilized needle. Harm looked from the needle to her face, and nodded. She nodded back and then she looked at Bud and Sturgis, who both placed their hands on his shoulders. He nervously squeezed Harriet's hand, and she comfortingly squeezed back.  
  
What followed was the most vivid New Year's memory Harriet ever had. While Mac sewed the wound, Harm's whole body tensed and shuddered with the new stabbing pains. His knuckles turned white as he clutched Harriet's hand. Mac tried to sew as quickly as she could, and she did finish in less then ten minutes, but to Harriet it had seemed like an eternity.  
  
When she had cut the final thread of the stitches, Mac replaced the needle in her medical kit. When she turned back to the bad, she saw that Harriet was leaning over Harm, mopping sweat from his brow. He was shaking with pain and cold, his eyes were darting wildly around the room, but he still clung to Harriet's hands.  
  
"It's alright, it's over," Harriet was soothing him.  
  
Mac noticed that although his breathing was fast and raspy, he had caught Harriet's eyes and was beginning to calm down. She cradled his head in her arm as if he were baby AJ just awoken from a bad dream. "It's over, it's over," she repeated softly in his ear.  
  
Mac saw that his breath was starting to even out and the tension was beginning to slip from his body. Mac didn't want to disturb him, so she motioned for Bud and Sturgis to leave the room quietly. Bud hesitated, but at a nod from Harriet, he followed Sturgis from the room.  
  
Mac looked at Harriet, who nodded, assuring her that it was okay for her to leave. Mac held out a glass of water, and Harriet took it, understanding that she needed to get Harm to drink it before he drifted off into sleep. With that, Mac left the room. She crossed the landing to her own room. She looked around it desperately, not knowing quite what to do. Tears welled up in her eyes and her lips began to tremble. She closed the door quietly, then flung herself across her bed, and she lay there crying silent, gut wrenching sobs. 


	13. Chap 13

Mid-afternoon Dec 31, 1863 Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, MS  
  
Mac rolled onto her side. Her neck was stiff and her back ached. As she stretched them, she looked out her northern window. The pouring rain outside matched her mood. Images of bleeding wounds still swam before her eyes, wounds that had never really healed.  
  
She rolled off her bed and went across the room to the mirror. She looked at her reflection and saw a tired, puffy-eyed little girl, instead of the beautiful woman she truly was. Her hair had fallen out of its braid and now lay wildly about her shoulders. Her shirt was wrinkled and the sleeves were flecked with blood. She sighed, knowing that there was still a party tonight- a party she was hosting.  
  
A soft knock came at her door, and she answered, "You can come in."  
  
Bobbi pushed the door open, and walked across the room. "Are you alright?" she asked kindly.  
  
Mac nodded half-heartedly. "I'll be fine, Bobbi," she said, her voice tired, flat and sad.  
  
Bobbi looked at her softly. "Sarah, what you've done over the last week, has been nothing short of a miracle," she told her, "You've run yourself ragged, and it's no wonder."  
  
Tears threatened to flood Mac's eyes again, but she blinked them back. "I'm fine, Bobbi. Really," she said as she turned to the wardrobe and pulled out a dress for the evening.  
  
Bobbi gave her a look that said, 'I don't believe you', and Mac said, "Really, I'm fine."  
  
"Whatever you say," she replied, and she added, "Everything is ready for the party tonight. The food is made, the dining room set up, and the parlor ready for dancing."  
  
"Bobbi, thank you so much."  
  
"Don't thank me. Hannah and Harriet did most of the work," Bobbi told her, "They wanted to give you a chance to rest."  
  
Mac smiled at this. She should have known that Harriet would step in- it was her motherly nature. Bobbi was now at her side, helping her out of her dirty clothes. Bobbi threw Mac stained shirt and wrinkled skirt into a basket at the back of the room, and then helped Mac into a simple white linen, button down shirt and a black wool skirt.  
  
"You should really dress up more," Bobbi told her, "Why not wear that lovely blue silk your Uncle AJ sent you?"  
  
"I'm comfortable like this," Mac replied fastening the last button on her skirt. The last thing she put on was a deep golden sash; wrapped twice around her waist, it gave her a festive look.  
  
Bobbi pinned up Mac's hair and for the first time in a week, Mac felt completely ready for what lay before her. Her mood had returned to normal and she was actually feeling excited about the party.  
  
Her excitement was mirror by everyone who was there that night. They ate lots of delicious food, listen to wonderful homemade music, and danced until the early hours of the morning. Everyone had a wonderful New Year's Eve. 


	14. Chap 14

Morning Jan. 3, 1864 Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, MS  
  
"Miss Mackenzie, when are you going to let me out of here?" Harm whined for the thousandth time.  
  
She smiled up at him from where she had been setting his arm in a sling. "Soon, Mr. Rabb," she said, as she stood up straight. She arched her back, stretching the sore muscles.  
  
Harm noticed how easily she moved, and for the first time realized that she didn't wear her corset the way other women did. "Your corset is loose," he joked.  
  
Mac spun and stared at him. "What are you doing looking?" she asked playfully stern.  
  
"There isn't much else to look at in here," he replied, a wide smile fixed his lips.  
  
"We'll see if we can remedy that for you," she said, "But first, you've got to eat this."  
  
"If it's porridge again, I don't want it."  
  
Mac smiled. "Actually, it's real food," she told him setting the tray over his legs. "You get toast with strawberry preserve, orange juice, and porridge."  
  
Harm looked over the breakfast, and his mouth began to water. It had been much longer than a week since he's had such food. No soldier had eaten so well since the war had begun. In fact, he felt almost guilty eating it. Almost. He fell into the toast and devoured it.  
  
"Take it easy, soldier," Mac warned, "You'll get a stomach ache."  
  
"I don't care," he said, his mouth full of bread.  
  
Just then, Bobbi came in. "Miss Sarah, Tiner is at the door for you."  
  
Mac rose from her seat and all evidence of her good mood faded. "Would you stay with him, Bobbi," she said, "Make sure he eats that porridge."  
  
Harm was about to give her a dirty look, when he realized her back was to him and she already at the door. Bobbi strode over to his bedside and pushed the bowl of porridge toward the edge of the tray. So, he gave her the dirty look instead.  
  
A short while later, Mac returned. She looked flustered as she pulled Bobbi aside and held a whispered conversation. Harm could tell that something had either just happened or was about to happen. Bobbi nodded seriously and left the room. Mac returned to Harm's beside, and he thought he'd better try to lighten the mood.  
  
"So, your name is Sarah, then," he said lightly.  
  
Mac paused and turned to face him. "Yes, my name is Sarah, but my friends call me Mac."  
  
"And may I be counted among those friends?" he asked, giving her an impish smile.  
  
A small smile crept to her lips. "You're asking an awful lot for someone who's in enemy territory," she warned playfully as she sat on the edge of the bed, holding the bowl of porridge, which he still hadn't eaten.  
  
Harm made a face. "I refuse to eat that," he said, looked straight into her eyes.  
  
"Well," she said sadly putting the bowl back down on the tray, "I was going to let you out of bed today, but seeing as you can't even eat your porridge."  
  
Harm instantly pulled the bowl closer to him, picked up his spoon and began to eat. Mac smiled. The playful banter between Harm and her was something new to her. Men usually only saw her for her looks, or the sizable dowry her father had left her when he died. 'It was the only decent thing he ever did for me,' Mac thought, but she banished it.  
  
Harm was watching her as he ate, and he noticed the flash of thought that had crossed her face. And what a face it was. She looked even more beautiful now than she had a few days before, probably as a result of the rest she'd gotten since the New Year. But behind her pretty face, he could see something buried.  
  
"Finished," he said, and he pushed the bowl away.  
  
Mac smiled and removed the tray. Harm was already pushing himself into a full sitting position when she turned back to him. She reached an arm out to help him.  
  
"You've been laying still for a long time," she told him gently, "You're going to be very weak."  
  
He nodded. "I know, I've been wounded before," he said flatly, and Mac knew there was a story there. She decided not to push it, and instead she allowed Harm to put his good arm around her shoulders.  
  
Harm slid his legs out from under the covers and Mac's breath caught in her throat. There was an eight-inch scar down the top of his muscular thigh. It was white against his skin, and ragged, even though completely healed. Harm turned his head to face her, their noses only inches apart.  
  
"It was years ago," he said, "You want to help me up?"  
  
Mac shook herself, as she looped her arm about his waist. Slowly, Harm was able to rise to his feet. He leaned heavily on Mac, but he was able to take a few steps around the room. When they finally came to rest on the bed again, Harm was breathing hard with exertion and he was dripping with sweat.  
  
Mac reached for a towel and began to mop the moisture from his brow. He jerked his head away.  
  
"What is it, lieutenant?" Mac asked, but then she knew. "Don't like feeling helpless, do you?"  
  
Harm looked at her annoyed, but he knew she was right. He grinned and nodded. Mac said, "Try being a woman sometime." 


	15. Chap 15

Late night Jan. 3, 1864 Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, MS  
  
Harm awoke in an empty room that night. His shoulder was stiff and to make matters worse he needed to get to the washroom. He slid out of bed and pulled on his drawstring trousers and the sling Mac had made for his arm. As he shuffled across the landing he thought he heard voices coming from downstairs. He stepped softly down the stairs until he stood at the top of the back staircase, directly above the kitchen, and then he was certain there were people talking below him.  
  
"Welcome," he heard Mac's voice; "You'll be safe here. There's bread and soup ready for you. Please, help yourselves."  
  
"Thanks, mem," said a deep male voice that Harm didn't recognize. Then, he heard the clinking of bowls and then another strange male voice spoke.  
  
"Mem, my name is Claudius Thatcher, and my brother is Henry Travis," it said.  
  
And Mac replied hurriedly, "It's a pleasure. Hannah will show you where you can rest. I have to see to this cut. Bobbi will you help us please?"  
  
Harm didn't even bother to conceal the fact that he was eves dropping, when Mac came up the back stairs holding a cloth to Sturgis's forehead.  
  
"What are you doing down here?" Mac asked Harm incredulously.  
  
"Looking for the washroom," he replied innocently.  
  
Mac shot him an exasperated look before pushing past him. As she passed, Harm noticed that there was blood on the cloth she was holding. Bobbi hurried on past him, and he followed her back up to the West room, where Mac had already seated Sturgis.  
  
"How did this happen, Sturgis?" Bobbi fussed, "I thought you said you would be fine."  
  
Sturgis shrugged lightly. "Bobbi, really I'm fine."  
  
Mac was collecting bandages from her kit, and Harm ruefully noticed that she wasn't going to use the needle. Mac caught him looking.  
  
"You should be in bed, Harm," she scolded.  
  
"I'm sorry, I had to get up for a while," he said, and then he continued, "Who were those men downstairs?"  
  
Mac stared at him for a moment, but she didn't have time to explain because Bobbi was fussing so much. Mac turned back to Sturgis as she heard him trying to tell Bobbi he was okay.  
  
"Bobbi," Mac assured her, "He's going to be fine. It doesn't need stitches."  
  
Bobbi was visibly more comfortable after that. She calmly helped Mac wrap the bandage around Sturgis's head, and then she helped Sturgis to stand. He swayed once, but she caught his arm. Together they left the room, leaving Harm and Mac alone.  
  
Mac was beginning to pick up the rest of the bandages when Harm asked again, "Who are the men in the kitchen?"  
  
She stopped, and turned to face him. He stood before her, his powerful chest and arms exposed, his injured shoulder supported with his arm in sling. She knew that she couldn't lie to him, but something inside her wouldn't let her. "They're fugitive slaves," she said finally.  
  
Harm seemed to stand taller and more rigid. "And why are they here?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
"I'm not a bounty hunter is that's what you're thinking," Mac said frostily, "I'm a stationmaster. Do you know what that means?"  
  
Harm looked confused, and then he understood. "You're part of the Underground Railroad," he said in awe, "How did you fall into it?"  
  
Mac gave him a half-grin and shrugged her shoulders. She finished rolling the extra bandages and then she faced him again. "Get back into bed, and then I'll tell you."  
  
He smiled broadly, a smile Mac had come to love and hate, but he sat down on the bed and rested back on the pillows. "Your move, madam," he smirked.  
  
She smirked back, but then she told him of how she met Sturgis, and how he had asked her to become a stationmaster. She left out most of the scene from Jackson, but Harm seemed to see through her omission. Sarah Mackenzie became more and more. Harm didn't know a word to describe her.  
  
"So," she said, coming to the end of the tale, "I've been working at it for a little over two years now."  
  
Harm shook his head in disbelief. "I've heard of how it works, how have you not been caught?"  
  
"It helps that my unc. my guardian is a powerful and respected man in the community," she said, not knowing why she stumbled over calling AJ her uncle. He wasn't technically her uncle, just her guardian, but everyone called him her uncle for the sake of propriety.  
  
Harm caught the change in mid-title. "He's not your uncle, then?"  
  
"No, but before he died, my father made him my guardian," she told him, "Not many people know that, so I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself."  
  
Harm smiled and nodded, and then his face turned serious. "How did your father die?" he asked softly.  
  
Mac swallowed, and then she said, "I think you need to rest." She rose from her chair and went to his bedside to tuck the blankets around him.  
  
Mac couldn't help but smile at his choice of words, given his own wound and the number of times it had been reopened. "Maybe some other time," she said, and left the room.  
  
Harm shook his head, knowing that he had just uncovered something Mac wanted to leave undisturbed. 


	16. Chap 16

Mid-morning Jan. 4, 1864 Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, MS  
  
When Harm awoke that morning he pulled a shirt on as best he could, and then he shuffled down the back stairs. When he reached the bottom, he saw the warm and friendly kitchen for the first time. Sitting at the large table, surrounded by Bobbi, Sturgis and the two men whose voices he'd heard the night before, was Mac. She was absent-mindedly looking out the back window, her eyes distant and her face blank.  
  
"Lieutenant Rabb," Bobbi exclaimed, "What are you doin' down here?"  
  
Harm shifted his gaze to Bobbi, even as Mac snapped out of her own little world and stared at him. "I had to get out of that room," he said, "I'm going to go insane if I have to spend one more minute in there."  
  
"Harm, you really shouldn't be down here," Mac said warily, "Someone could see."  
  
Just then, a young woman appeared at the kitchen door. She wore a black skirt, and had a plaid shawl wrapped tightly around her. Her blond hair was done up perfectly in tight spirals, which resembled sausages.  
  
"Loren, how nice to see you," Mac said as she rushed to the door. She opened it but didn't invite the woman in.  
  
"I was just coming to wish you a happy New Year, but I see I've come at a bad time," she said, straining to look around Mac and into the kitchen, just the way Brumby had done the day before.  
  
"Yes, unfortunately, I am entertaining at the moment," Mac said, but Loren wasn't looking at her. She was staring at the two black men.  
  
"Those two men are." she said, turning accusing eyes at Mac. Then she smiled evilly before turning and running off across the lawn.  
  
"Loren, wait!" Mac yelled and she started to chase after her. Sturgis caught her arm before she had taken a few steps, though.  
  
"No, Mac," he said, "We've got to leave now."  
  
Mac looked angrily after Loren for a moment. "You're right."  
  
She hurried back into the kitchen. Harriet, carrying AJ, and Bud had joined the group now, and had witnessed the scene. Harriet was bustling about wrapping bread in handkerchiefs, while Hannah collected the meager things the two men had brought. Harm looked around as if looking for something he could do to help. Through it all, AJ played oblivious near the hearth. In a few minutes, Sturgis was ready to leave, along with the two men.  
  
"Stick to the woods," Mac told him, "Find a place to lay low until dark."  
  
"Mac I know what I'm doing," he assured her. Just then, Bobbi came back into the room. In the mayhem no one had even noticed her leave. She had a heavy woolen cape buttoned around her and a small basket in the crook of her arm.  
  
"I'm going with you," she told Sturgis.  
  
"Absolutely not," he replied sternly. "I won't let you."  
  
"Well, I'm going whether you like it or not," she retorted, and then her face softened as she looked at Mac, "I was going to tell you. Sturgis and I are, well, we're engaged."  
  
Mac smiled despite the tears that threatened to spill. "I'm going to miss you terribly," she said, "I don't know what I would have done without you."  
  
Bobbi came forward and embraced her. "I'll never forget you. When we're settled I'll write."  
  
Mac nodded firmly. But Sturgis was now fuming, "You're not going woman."  
  
Bobbi whipped around and stared him down. "Who are you calling woman? Now you listen here, I am going, and you have not say in the matter. Is that clear?"  
  
Sturgis's eyes were wide with shock. He'd never scene this side of Bobbi before, and he didn't know quite what to think of it yet. Oddly enough though, he nodded, and Bobbi responded by kissing him on the cheek.  
  
"You don't have a lot of time," Harriet reminded them, "If I know Loren Singer," she added bitterly, "She's just gone to fetch Brumby, and if you're not well out of here by the time he arrives, you'll never make it north."  
  
Sturgis nodded and then he, Bobbi, and the two fugitive slaves swiftly ran from the house and across the yard. Harm, the Roberts, and Mac watched until they disappeared into the woods.  
  
"God speed," Harm muttered. 


	17. Chap 17

Mac swung into action. "Hannah, I need you to clear out the passage, and make it look like another part of the root cellar," she said, and Hannah went straight to work. "Harriet, Bud, if you could please alert the hands that Brumby will be coming to inspect the farm, I'd really appreciate it."  
  
Harriet pulled a shawl from the pegs near the door and she and Bud set out. Mac then turned to face Harm, the only person left in the room aside from little AJ, who had discovered a pillow and was now dozing.  
  
"Harm," she said, but then she didn't know how to continue. "Um."  
  
"I'll go back up to my room, and if he finds me, then," he paused to think of some excuse, "Then, we'll say I'm a cousin visiting from New York."  
  
Mac nodded. "And your name is O'Hara. That's my uncle's name."  
  
"Your real uncle?" he asked with a slight smile, and was rewarded when Mac smiled in return.  
  
Three hours later, Brumby had arrived and searched the entire farm. He went through all of the workers' cabins, the barn, and the house. He discovered the secret passage in the root cellar, but, thanks to Hannah's excellent work, there wasn't a sign of anyone having lived there. He spoke briefly with the Roberts as he had their belongings strewn about the room under the guise of searching. However, his exchange with Lt. Rabb was certainly the most dangerous.  
  
Brumby pushed open the door to the West room, and at first glance he didn't see anything unusual. Mac had followed him in and was just going to introduce him to 'her cousin' when he spotted Harm sitting in a chair by the fireplace, reading. He looked comfortable in his plain brown trousers and a heavy cotton shirt, though his arm was held up in a sling. He looked up innocently at Brumby and Mac and said in a casual tone, "Sarah, who's your friend?"  
  
"This is Mic Brumby," Mac replied, "He's the Warren County Sheriff."  
  
Harm rose from his seat, walked to the door and extended his hand in greeting. "Sheriff Brumby, it's a pleasure."  
  
Brumby suspiciously shook his hand. "Who are you, sir?"  
  
"O'Hara, Matt," Harm told him. From behind Brumby, Mac looked at him surprised. She'd never told him that her uncle's name was Matt.  
  
"O'Hara," Brumby repeated, "I don't recall ever hearing that name around here before."  
  
"O'Hara was my mother's maiden name," Mac said as cheerily as she could from where she still stood in the door. "Matt's father and my mother were siblings."  
  
"Then, you're cousins," Brumby said, but he remained tense. "You have a northern accent Mr. O'Hara. Where are you from?"  
  
"New York of late," Harm said, "Basically here and there."  
  
"And how long have you been here at Sweetfern?"  
  
"Since the twenty-seventh of December, I believe."  
  
"Are you aware of the activities taking place in this house?" Brumby asked bluntly.  
  
Mac was about to protest, but something in Harm's eyes quieted her. He pulled his eyebrows together in question. "Am I aware that this is a farm?" he rephrased, barely keeping the smile from his lips.  
  
Brumby looked annoyed. "What I meant, Mr. O'Hara, was- are you aware that your cousin has been smuggling fugitive slaves?"  
  
The wrinkle between Harm's eyes deepened. He looked at Mac then back to Brumby. Then he smiled, as though this was some kind of bad joke. "I can assure you, Sheriff, that nothing of the sort is going on here," he said. "Where did you get this information?"  
  
"A concerned citizen witnessed two fugitive slaves eating in your cousins kitchen this morning," Brumby told him, now looking even more annoyed, "She came to me."  
  
"She must have been mistaken," Harm said, "There are many Negro men working here as free-laborers, but certainly no fugitive slaves."  
  
"Whatever you claim to be the case," Brumby said, "I must search the entire house."  
  
Brumby made to push past Harm and further into the room, but Harm didn't move. "One woman's word is cause for you to search an entire estate?" he asked. His tone had ceased to be playful and he had drawn himself to his full height. He seemed to fill the entire room.  
  
For a moment, Brumby looked shaken, but then he stiffened and staring daringly into Harm's eyes said, "If you persist in obstructing this search I can have you removed from the property."  
  
Mac stepped in from the door, and came to stand at Harm's uninjured side. She placed her hand gently on his arm and felt his pulse quick beneath it. She was surprised; outwardly he seemed so calm. He stepped to the side and allowed Brumby to enter the room, but he still stood rigidly tall. Brumby looked in all of the drawers and under the bed, behind the wall hangings and in the closet; he found nothing.  
  
"I'm finished here," he said irately, as he brushed past them on his way out of the room. "Miss Mackenzie, I'll be leaving now."  
  
Mac shot Harm a hasty grateful look, before she followed after Brumby. Harm watched after her.  
  
Mac followed Brumby all the way out onto the porch, where she stopped and he continued to walk. He was just about to mount his horse, when four men appeared at the edge of the yard- two white men roughly shoving two black men.  
  
Mac breath caught in her throat. As the men neared the house, she saw that they were the fugitive slaves, and despite her sadness that they had been caught she sent a prayer heavenward that Sturgis and Bobbi were safe.  
  
"Sheriff," one of the white men called out, "We found these two men in the woods not far from here."  
  
Brumby looked at each of the men, and then ordered, "Take them back to the guard house and shackle them. Then, go to the Blanchard place and tell old Johnny, his slaves will be returned." Then, he looked at Mac and said, "I'll be along in a moment."  
  
Mac squared her shoulders and braced herself for what was coming. As his men march off, pushing the fugitive slaves ahead of them, Brumby grabbed Mac roughly by the arm and led her back into the house. He pulled her along until they were in the parlor.  
  
"You will let go of me, this instant," she spat.  
  
"Sit down, Miss Mackenzie," he said maliciously as he practically dropped her into a chair. "And listen."  
  
Mac rubbed her sore arm and knew there would be bruised there. She looked up at Brumby, her eyes full of fury.  
  
"Miss Mackenzie, assisting fugitive slaves is major offense in this state," he began.  
  
"You have no proof that I have ever done such a thing," she interjected. "Those men were not found on my land, nor in any of my buildings."  
  
"I'm the sheriff, and what I say is proof," he said, leaning toward her chair. Mac was silenced. He continued on in a suggestive voice, "I don't have to say anything, but I do have certain terms you'd have to fulfill for such an arrangement to be possible."  
  
Mac blood boiled at the thought of being bribed by this despicable man. "There will be no arrangement, Brumby. My Uncle will not allow anything of the sort."  
  
"So, you're saying that Mr. Chegwidden knew of your slave smuggling activities," he accused, and again she fell silent, knowing that she had just given him more ammunition to use against her. "You know the punishment for aiding slaves in escaping into the North. I could imprison you and take the land as a fine."  
  
Mac's eyes were now blazing with a hatred she had never felt before. "You wouldn't dare."  
  
"Now, Sarah," he said in his oily tone and Mac flinched as he said her name, "Nothing has to be done. All I'm ask for is, well, not to put too fine a point on it, your hand."  
  
Mac's mouth fell open in shock, but she regained her composure as a new wave of rage washed over her. "Never."  
  
"Think about it, Sarah," he said in the same awful tone, "If you agree, then all this, all of Sweetfern would be saved. Nothing would happen to you uncle's farm, and you and I would, well, we'd live off of your generous dowry."  
  
Mac was breathing quickly, and her heart beat wildly against her ribs in anger. Her hands were in tight fists as she sat, unmoving.  
  
"Think about it," Brumby said, "I'll return tomorrow morning for your answer."  
  
He looked her over one more time, and then he strode out of the parlor. As soon as Mac heard the front door close, she rose so quickly that her chair was knocked backwards onto the floor. She kicked it angrily and then stormed out of the room.  
  
She bounded up the stairs two at a time, energized by intense anger. She reached the second floor landing and turned into the library. She paced around the room, trying to calm herself. She knew that Bud and Harriet were above her in their room with little AJ and waiting to hear news of what Brumby had discovered, but she couldn't bring herself to go up and tell them.  
  
Her mind raced as she thought about what he had offered her. A chance to save everyone she loved, by marrying a man she detested. He could have thought of no worse punishment for her.  
  
She sat alone in the library for the rest of the afternoon. Bud had interrupted her once, and she'd told him what Brumby had offered her. Bud had been furious; he'd paced and fumed for a few minutes, telling Mac over and over again, how she couldn't possibly consider the offer. Eventually, he'd left and Mac was alone again. She sat behind the great oak desk that looked out over the front lawn, contemplating her options. Finally, after Hannah had called her down to dinner, she came to a decision. 


	18. Chap 18

"Have you completely lost your mind?" Harriet asked wide-eyed.  
  
"Harriet, I know it sounds like a crazy idea," Mac began, but Bud cut her off.  
  
"It's not crazy, Mac," he said hotly, "It's ludicrous. Brumby has no power over you. He has no legal leverage."  
  
"You're right," Mac said, "But he doesn't need any. With my uncle gone, there's no one here to stand up to him, and as soon as Loren spreads word of the slaves being here, the entire community will be only to glad to come here, imprison us all, and burn the place down." Mac paused as visions of Sweetfern engulfed in hot flames flashed over her eyes. "The only way I can prevent that from happening is to agree to marry him."  
  
Harriet shook her head. "But you hate him," she said softly. "Can you imagine spending the rest of your life begin his wife? Then he really will have power over you."  
  
"I can do what I have to do," Mac replied determinedly. Bud and Harriet stared back at her, knowing that nothing they could say would change her mind. She rose from her seat, leaving her dinner untouched. "I'm going to take that tray up to Lieutenant Rabb."  
  
Hannah and the Roberts watched silently as Mac disappeared up the stairs. When she reached the West room, she saw Harm standing at the window. He didn't turn to face her, but he said, "You can't marry that man."  
  
Mac put the tray down and then joined him at the window. She crossed her arms as she looked out over her rose garden, and the magnolia tree. "How did you hear about that?"  
  
"Bud," he said simply, looking down at her. "He seemed concerned that you were actually considering it."  
  
Mac didn't trust herself to answer. Even though she'd known him for only a few weeks, she knew that she wouldn't be able to lie to this man.  
  
Frustrated by her silence, Harm turned away from her, and said venomously, "That man is the worst excuse for a human being I have ever met."  
  
Mac turned away from the window and began to straighten the dishes on the tray unnecessarily. "Come and eat," she said softly.  
  
Harm faced her back. "What was your decision?"  
  
Mac couldn't bring herself to look into his eyes. "I'm going to marry him," she said her voice almost a whisper. She was furious at herself for her weakness.  
  
Harm shook his head in disbelief. "You can't be serious."  
  
Mac forced herself to turn and lift her eyes up to his. "I have to. It's the only way to protect everyone here."  
  
"There has to be another way, Mac."  
  
"There is no other way," she replied emotionally. Tears were brimming in her eyes. "As long as AJ is away, Brumby holds all the cards."  
  
"This can't be legal," he tried to reason.  
  
"It doesn't matter if it's legal or not." A single tear fell from her eye and left its wet trail down her cheek. "Brumby will sway the community and everything that Sweetfern is will be." Her voice caught in her throat. "Will be destroyed, burned, like the Roberts' farm." She put her hand over her mouth and put her back to Harm.  
  
Harm stood rigidly, looking at her. Her shoulders shook as she stood next to the bed. He didn't know what to do. Should he go to her, and comfort her, or would that injure her pride? He resolved to try to comfort. He crossed the room in three long strides, and placed a hand on her shoulder.  
  
She hiccuped, and then forced herself to stop crying. This was ridiculous; tears would help nothing. And, she wouldn't be seen as a weak, emotionally vulnerable sap of a woman, not by Harm. She sniffed one last time, wiped her eyes, and turned around to look at him. But when she looked into his usually guarded eyes, she saw something there that she'd never seen before.  
  
"You can't marry that man," he whispered, his voice husky. Tingles ran down Mac's spine at the sound of his voice. All of a sudden Harm was standing only a few inches from her, their bodies almost touching. He raised his good arm, and wiped away the last remaining tear on Mac's cheek. "You can't marry him," he said again.  
  
Mac covered his hand with her own. Her eyes darted back and forth between Harm's. Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. "I have to." She dropped her hand from his and fled from the room, leaving Harm standing alone, a bewildered and defeated look on his face. 


	19. Chap 19

Jan. 6, 1864 Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, MS  
  
Mac sat with Harriet in the kitchen sipping unsweetened tea; since the war had broken out they hadn't been able to get any coffee. Both women sat silently, their cups folded in their hands, and listened to little AJ babble as he played with his Noah's Ark.  
  
Bud entered the room, and noticed at once the stiff silence of the ladies. He was glad for the silence; it meant that he didn't have to tell Mac how worried he was about her decision to marry Brumby. He sat down on the floor with AJ. "What's this one AJ?" he asked holding up the elephant.  
  
"Wagon," he said in his childish voice, not looking up.  
  
"I think this is an elephant, buddy," Bud corrected him.  
  
"No," said AJ, with exaggerated patience. "Wagon."  
  
Bud turned a confused face to the women sitting at the table. Harriet raised her eyebrows and shrugged, while Mac turned her head out the window. "A wagon is coming," she said. She rose from the table and walked from the room. She nearly collided with Harm when she reached the entrance hall.  
  
"Mac, wait," he said as he reached for her arm, but she swept past him.  
  
For the rest of her life, Mac would remember that moment, the few seconds before she opened the front door. She would still feel the sway of her skirt, and the way her hair blew across her eyes as she opened the door. The next she saw was just as vivid-a group of Confederate soldiers walking alongside a flat cart, and laying on the cart was a still form, covered in a grey blanket, a wide brimmed hat and sword laid over it.  
  
"No," she breathed as she dashed down the steps, and across the yard. When she reached the cart she beheld him. "Oh, uncle," she breathed, her face contorting as tears began to fall down her cheeks. Her breath caught in her chest and for a moment she was aware only of the grief building within her. She rocked herself back and forth, until finally a gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder. It was Harm.  
  
A sob shook her slender form, as Harm used his good arm and turned her into his strong chest. She cried hard against him, and then she began to pound angrily at his chest, yelling at him, at AJ, at the Confederate Army, at God. She fell to the ground, her skirt billowing around her. Harm followed her the ground and pulled her back into his chest. He rocked her gently until the sobs began to subside.  
  
Harriet and Bud had remained in the background to shocked to move. AJ had been as much a guardian to them as he had been to Mac. Harriet cried silently on Bud's shoulder while Bud held his son tightly.  
  
Mac had finally quieted enough, the she allowed Harm to lift her to her feet. She swayed uncertainly, and Harm wrapped his arm about her waist. She stiffened her back and squared her shoulders before she turned to face the soldiers.  
  
"Thank you for bringing him home." 


	20. Chap 20

Jan. 13, 1864 Kirkwood Cemetery Kirkwood, MS  
  
Harm walked quietly into the graveyard; he didn't want to disturb Mac, who stood alone at AJ's gravesite. It had been seven days since the soldiers had brought him home to be buried, and two days since his funeral. Mac had closed herself off to he crowd of people who had come to pay their last respects. She's hardly eaten, let alone spoken, since AJ had been brought home. She was no longer the vivid woman he had first met. Her completely black attire was a stark contrast to the beautiful sunny day. As he drew closer he could see that her eyes were newly red and swollen.  
  
"Mac?" he asked softly.  
  
Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice. "Harm," she answered, and all of a sudden Mac's chest felt tight and new tears sprang into her eyes. Harm closed the distance between them and enveloped her in his arms. Her shoulders shook gently as she cried out all of the tension of the last few days. She didn't know why but she felt as if only now she could let go.  
  
Harm rubbed her back as he held her tightly to him. Her tears slowly dried, but he still held her. He reached up and caressed her cheek, looking deep into her red and swollen eyes, and he saw her remarkable strength shinning through them.  
  
She sniffed. She was gazing back into his eyes, and what she saw there made her heart skip a beat and her knees go weak.  
  
"Better?" he asked.  
  
Mac nodded. "Yes," she whispered, "Thank you."  
  
Harm bent his head toward hers, and she tipped her face up to him. Their lips were just inches apart when they heard pounding footsteps from across the cemetery. They broke apart guiltily, each feeling the pang of separation.  
  
They both turned in the direction of the footsteps. Brumby, a furious look on his face, was briskly walking toward them. Bud was only a few steps behind Brumby, and a man Mac had never seen before followed them both. Mac could tell by his suit that he was a man of some profession-doctor or lawyer or some sort.  
  
"Can I help you, sir?" Harm asked when Mac was unable to find her own voice.  
  
"This is none of your concern," Brumby spat out. "Sarah, explain to this man that you and I are affianced."  
  
Mac's voice, which had been halting before, was now completely absent. Not because she didn't want to speak, but because Bud spoke first.  
  
"Mac," Bud cut in, "This is Dalton Lowne; he's the executor of AJ's will."  
  
Mac turned her angry eyes from Brumby to look at Lowne. This was the man AJ had picked? Suddenly, her voice returned. "Excuse me?"  
  
"Miss Mackenzie, I am from a Law Firm in Washington," Lowne said, "I am the executor."  
  
"Very well," she said curtly. "Let's head back up to the farm. We can discuss everything there."  
  
Everyone began to walk out of the cemetery except Brumby. "Sarah, I insist that you declare our engagement," he said dangerously, and everyone turned to look at him.  
  
Mac's mind was now running full tilt. "No," she said in a tone that was equally dangerous. "You can't bully me into marrying you. Not anymore." With that she turned on her heal and walked out of the cemetery leaving Brumby in her wake.  
  
The remaining four of them walked back to the farm, and when they were comfortably settled in the parlor, Mr. Lowne began to explain the will. "You see," he said once he'd read it to them, "Property can't pass to a woman, so I'm afraid it'll have to be sold."  
  
"It?" Harm asked.  
  
"The farm," Mac answered, "I'll have to sell Sweetfern."  
  
Harm didn't know whether to feel sorry for the fact that she would have to leave the farm that she had made her home, or to be ecstatic that now Brumby would have no leverage over her.  
  
"The hands," Mac thought suddenly, "What will become of them? They don't have enough money to start over."  
  
"Mr. Chegwidden made provisions for them," Mr. Lowne said, "They're all to receive one hundred dollars plus travelling expenses. That way they'll be able to move on and find another place to make a living."  
  
Mac put her hand over her heart and said a silent prayer of thanks for AJ's forethought. "When does the farm need to sell?"  
  
"As soon as possible," Lowne told her. "You don't have to remain on the property until it is sold. You and the hands are free to leave anytime before the sale. I'll remain and finalize the sale."  
  
Mac nodded slowly, then shook her head. "Mr. Loan."  
  
"It's Lowne. like 'clown'," he corrected.  
  
"Mr. Lowne," she repeated, "I need some time to think. Would you be able to return tomorrow?"  
  
Lowne collected his papers. "When would be convenient?"  
  
"Mid-day," she said. "Harm will show you out."  
  
The two men left the room as Mac crossed to the window and looked out over the porch. This farm and its people had become her life, and now, because of some stupid law, she couldn't remain here. She was so caught up in her anger that she didn't notice Harm return. 


	21. Chap 21

"Mac," Harm said carefully.  
  
"I'm alright, Mr. Rabb," she snapped, "Stop tiptoeing around me." She sounded ungrateful and she knew it, but she was so angry.  
  
Harm was taken aback for a minute. After all that he had done in the last few days this was how she was treating him? "Don't take your frustrations out on me," he replied.  
  
Mac let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry," she said, turning to face him. "I just. you know I thought it was over and we could start to heal. But then. now I'll have to sell. I promised AJ I would take care of this place."  
  
Harm nodded. "You did," he told her, "It was a heavy burden to bear, but you did it. And now, you're free. Selling Sweetfern isn't losing."  
  
"It's more than that, Harm," she said as she looked out the window and watched a few of the workers outside, "I've loved living here. This place, these people, they are my life."  
  
"Mac, maybe it's time to start a new life," Harm said carefully. He pulled something from his pocket. It was a tattered piece of paper. "I found this in here a few days after my arrival. It's addressed to you, but it was open and my curiosity got the better of me."  
  
He handed the paper to Mac. "It's the letter from my Uncle Matt," she said softly, "That's how you know to call yourself 'O'Hara' when Brumby asked you."  
  
Harm nodded. "I also know that you had wanted to get away from here," he said, "From what your uncle said you were really looking forward to going north."  
  
She smiled slightly. "Yes, I've heard that woman are freer in the north," she said, "I would like to go North."  
  
"Now's your chance," he said as reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. Mac stared up into his deep blue eyes, and for a moment, she lost herself in them. The, suddenly they heard a loud thud from across the room, and they both turned in the direction of the sound. Bud was standing in the corner of the room, a large volume lying on the floor at his feet. He wore the guiltiest expression Mac had every seen.  
  
"I. uh. well, you didn't seem to notice that I was still here, so." he stammered.  
  
A wide smile broke Harm's features as looked at Bud. Mac began to giggle. And soon all she and Harm were caught up in a fit of laughter. Bud gazed at them dumbstruck. Harriet stuck her head around the door, little AJ on her hip.  
  
"What's so funny?" she asked.  
  
"Oh, Harriet," Mac said though her giggles, "You're a lucky woman."  
  
Harm laughed harder, and Harriet looked confused. Little AJ had begun to laugh. He must have found the grown ups to be thoroughly amusing. Harriet put him down and pranced past Mac and Harm and ran over to his dad. He stood on top of the heavy book at Bud's feet and jumped into his arms. Eventually, the laughter quieted down, and everyone sobered.  
  
"Bud, would you please ask Hannah to call the hands into the barn," she asked with a smile still on her face, "I need to talk with them."  
  
Bud nodded and as he left the room, he handed AJ to Harriet. Harriet turned to Mac, "What's going on?"  
  
"The lawyer who was just here informed me that I have to sell Sweetfern," Mac told her plainly.  
  
Harriet's face dropped. "Mac, I'm so sorry."  
  
Mac shrugged. "Actually, Harriet, I'm beginning to think that this may be a good thing," she said, but then her face dropped.  
  
"What is it?" Harriet asked concerned.  
  
"Where will you go when the farm is sold?" Mac asked crushed.  
  
Harriet put her hand on Mac's shoulder and gave her a small smile. "Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you," she said, "I got a letter from my mother just before. well, I got a letter from my mother, and she's asked Bud and I to live with her in Florida until the baby is born."  
  
Mac breathed a sigh of relief. And Harriet had a sudden idea. "Sarah," she said, "Where will you go?"  
  
Mac glanced over at Harm, who had been watching the exchange. "I'll be heading North, as soon as I hear from my uncle in New York."  
  
"Where will you be until then?" Harriet asked.  
  
"I suppose I'll stay here until the sale is complete," Mac shrugged. She noticed that as she said that both Harriet and Harm stiffened. "What?" she asked them.  
  
Harriet looked at Harm to answer. He turned his serious expression on Mac. "I don't think it's safe for you to stay here alone," he said, "Especially, since publicly refused Brumby today."  
  
"Thank God," Harriet said enthusiastically, and Mac turned toward her. "I. I agree with Mr. Rabb. I don't like the idea of you staying here alone. Why don't you come and stay with Bud and I in Florida?"  
  
Mac looked completely taken aback. "Harriet, I couldn't impose."  
  
"Mac, I won't let you say no," Harriet said, "You wouldn't be imposing and I'd really like you to be there with me." Harriet gave Mac a conspiratorial smile. "Please, Mac," she pleaded, "I can't stand my mother."  
  
Mac grinned and laughed. Harriet embraced her with her free arm. Harm looked on, his mind on his own future. He knew what he was going to have to do, and he still wasn't ready.  
  
A half an hour later, the hands were all assembled in the barn, and Mac stood among them. They were all dressed in their homespun work clothes, and some were dirty from working in the fields. There were several children running in between their parents' legs. Hannah let out a loud whistle and gradually a hush fell over the crowd.  
  
"Thank you all for getting in so quickly," Mac started. "I know the last few weeks have like a nightmare for many of you, and I'm afraid I have some news that you may find distressing."  
  
The hands exchanged nervous glances, as Mac continued, "According to the law a woman cannot own property, so Sweetfern will have to be sold."  
  
There were a few astonished gasps, but Mac raised her hand to quiet them. "AJ made provisions in his will for all of you," she said, "He's left you all one hundred dollars, as well as travel expenses. You'll be able to move wherever you like, and start new lives."  
  
The hands exchanged more anxious looks, but their eyes were filled with excitement. They all started to talk. "North, we could go north." "Canada." They began to smile and laugh. "What about you?" on of the men asked, and everyone became quiet, "What will do mem?"  
  
Mac swallowed. "I don't know yet," she said, "I'll be staying with the Roberts at Mrs. Robert's mother's plantation in Florida at first. I will move north eventually, but I need to wait for word from my uncle." The hands nodded, and after a few appreciative comments, they dispersed to begin packing their belongings. 


	22. Chap 22

Jan 13, 1864 Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, MS  
  
Mac stood on the porch watching the sun set as a wagon rolled out of the drive. Her dark hair hung loosely down her back, cascading over her  
  
She'd spent so many months living on this farm, caring for and about the people who worked on it. And now they were all leaving. Bobbi and Sturgis were already gone. Hannah would be leaving. Mac smiled inwardly as she recalled how Hannah had reacted to the news: "Thank the Lawd," she cried, "Charles, I'm comin' nort'."  
  
Mac asked who Charles was and it turned out that Hannah had a brother in Maine. Mac had never known that. She wished Hannah well, and Hannah ran up to her quarters and packed her things. They had hugged and kissed goodbye just a moment ago. And now, Hannah rode away in the wagon, along with most of the other hands.  
  
Mac waved, and they all waved back at her. Harm came up behind her and put his good arm around her shoulders. They watched until the wagon turned the bend, and then they just stood for a few minutes watching the sun as it dipped below the trees.  
  
"I didn't think they'd be gone so soon," Mac said as she turned away from Harm and sat down on the porch swing. Harm didn't move, but continued to stare toward the west. "They're all so excited. They've all set plans, and they're on their way. But you," she said, looking up at him, "What will you do now that you're almost healed?"  
  
Harm hung his head and didn't turn to face her. "Harm?" she asked worriedly and went o him. She put her hand on his arm and tried to look him in the eye, but he turned away. "What is it?"  
  
"Mac, I have to leave," he finally said.  
  
"I know," she said sadly, trying to maneuver around him, "We all do."  
  
Harm turned and looked straight at her. "I'm going back to my regiment."  
  
Mac nodded slowly. "I know," she said.  
  
"You know?" he said and a worry line formed between his eyebrows.  
  
"Yes, I know," she told him, "You don't seem like the type to shrug off your duty. You must have missed them."  
  
Harm nodded. "Yes, I have," he paused and laughed at himself, "I didn't think you'd take this so well."  
  
Mac smiled at him. "Well, I'm familiar with duty," she joked, but then she turned serious.  
  
Harm saw the wistful look in her eyes as they danced over the farm again. His gaze followed hers and he was reminded of something. "My grandmother has a farm like this in Pennsylvania," he said.  
  
"Really?" Mac asked distractedly.  
  
"Yes, its in Bellesview," he went on, "I spent a lot of time there after-- I finished university." He finished quietly after pausing. He didn't want to add to Mac's troubles by telling her of his own. Mac turned to look at him, a knowing look in her eyes, but she didn't push him. He continued, "If you ever need-wait, what's that?"  
  
He was looking over her shoulder, into the setting sun, and Mac turned around to look. As she squinted the distant fuzzy shapes came into focus. Her eyes widened with recognition.  
  
"We must get everyone out of here," she ordered, as she ran toward the door.  
  
Harm's eyes widened in understanding as he recognized what Mac had. "Oh, my God," he whispered.  
  
"Harriet, Bud," Mac yelled as soon as she entered the house.  
  
"What's wrong?" Bud asked as he hurried out of the library. He ran after Mac who had run down the hall and into the kitchen. She was hastily wrapping an gray wool shawl around her shoulders. "Mac what's going on?"  
  
"They're coming," she said urgently, "Get Harriet and little AJ and get out. I have to warn the hands."  
  
"No," Harm protested, "I'll warn the hands. You stay with the Roberts."  
  
"No, they're my responsibility," Mac argued, just as Harriet came into the room. She shared a single glance with Bud and immediately wrapped the last remaining shawl around her own shoulders and over little AJ.  
  
"Mac, I can do it twice as fast as you can," Harm countered.  
  
"They're my friends," Mac said as she strode toward the door.  
  
Harm reached out and grabbed her arm. "Please, go with Harriet and Bud, Sarah," he pleaded. He caught Mac's eyes with his own, hoping to convey that he needed her to listen to him, and do as he asked of her. She understood.  
  
"We'll make for the eastern woods," she told him, but her eyes said so much more, "The hands will guide you." Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she blinked them back, needing to be strong. "Good luck," she whispered.  
  
Harm reached out and cupped her cheek with his hand. He wanted so badly to take her in his arms, but there wasn't time. "Good luck," he a whispered, and then he turned on his heel and ran off toward the hands' cottages.  
  
Mac watched him for a moment, then she turned to Harriet and Bud. "Come on." They ran as fast as they could, hindered by the women's skirts and baby AJ. After a few hundred feet Bud took AJ from Harriet and they made better time. They were safely in the cover of the woods, when they heard the first shouts from the gang. In the twilight they could see the growing light of the torches they carried.  
  
Mac looked urgently toward the hands' cottages. She could just make out Harm's tall, slim figure among the people who were running away. Mac's heart raced as she watched them. The gang of torch bearers was closing in on the hands. Harm was trying to hurry them along, but some of them were old and weak.  
  
Harriet let out a scream, and Mac shifted her gaze toward the house. It was ablaze. The porch and library had been engulfed in flame. The tears Mac had been fighting slid down her cheeks as she thought of all the hours she had spent among those precious books. Her despair turned to rage when she recognized the man standing in front of the roaring fire-Mic Brumby.  
  
"You bastard," she seethed. She took a few angry steps forward, but Bud jumped ahead of her.  
  
"No, Mac you can't," he told her, "He'll kill you, or worse."  
  
Mac's furry burned inside her with a heat that rivaled the flames engulfing her home. But then she saw little AJ, his scared eyes looked to her for strength. She had to get him, and his parents to safety, so she buried her rage. "This way," she said harshly, the rage not as gone as she had hoped.  
  
Harriet and Bud followed quickly behind her as they all scurried through the branches and shrubs. They ran as far as Harriet's stamina allowed her to go and then they paused, at the base of towering tree. Their breath came fast and ragged. Mac stepped away from Harriet and Bud and listened. The thundering sounds coming from the direction of the farm drowned out what Mac was listening for. Then, she heard it-footsteps.  
  
"Get down," she whispered to Bud and Harriet, and they crouched and waited. 


	23. Chap 23

Mac could hear the steps getting closer and closer; she heard the leaves crumbling beneath the feet. Her every sense was piqued. Suddenly, there was a small hiccup from behind her. She closed her eyes and prayed that she was the only one who'd heard it. But the steps had stopped. The air was filled with tension. The steps began again, only this time faster and louder. Mac reached for the small knife she carried tucked into the waistband of her skirt; she held it ready.  
  
The steps were nearing her hiding place. At the last possible moment, she threw herself from behind the tree and toward the attacker. "Stop!" he cried as he twisted away from her thrust. "Mac, its Harm!"  
  
Mac let the knife fall at her feet, and she put her hand on her chest. She said a small prayer of thanks before confronting Harm. "What the hell were you doing sneaking up on us like that?" she demanded. Bud and Harriet had risen to their feet after hearing Harm's voice and they watched as Mac stood toe to toe with him.  
  
"I thought you were Brumby's men," he defended, "I didn't mean to frighten you like you that." He patted her arm, but almost immediately his facial expression turned to stone. "We don't have much time," he said bluntly, "We've got to put more distance between us and them."  
  
Mac nodded. "I know where we can go," she said, and they took off into the woods.  
  
Hours later they came into a clearing in the trees. The ground formed a slight hill and there was a run down old cabin on the top of it. They could hear a river somewhere near by. Mac led them up to the door of the cabin.  
  
"What is this place?" Harriet asked shakily.  
  
Mac pushed open the door. "This is where I grew up," she said without feeling. Inside the cabin there was an iron stove in the corner, an old oak table, two walls of bottles, jars and dried herbs, and large double bed in the far corner. There was a loft above them. The whole place had a dry musty smell, telltale of the fact that no one had been there in years, but that everything was clean, if a bit dusty.  
  
"There are quilts and mattresses in the loft," Mac told Bud, "You and Harriet should sleep up there with little AJ."  
  
Bud was about to protest, when Harm concurred, "You carried that little guy all the way here. You rest, and we'll keep watch."  
  
Bud nodded. If it had been an order from any other man Bud would have refused, but in the last few weeks he'd come to respect Harm. He allowed Harriet to climb the ladder into the loft first before he followed. Mac pulled one of the chairs from the table and sat down. Harm stood at the window and looked out into the woods.  
  
"Do you think they'll track us?" he asked Mac in a hushed tone.  
  
She shook her head. "They've never tracked anyone," she told him, then with a rueful smile she added, "Then again, Brumby never wanted to marry any of the others."  
  
Harm gave sarcastic snort. "It's too dark for them to pick up our trail in the woods tonight, but in the morning it'll be all to easy."  
  
"We'll leave well before dawn," Mac said as she rubbed her neck. "By the time the sun comes up, we will be at the next station."  
  
"Mac I don't think a train station." Harm began, but then he understood what she was talking about.  
  
"We'll meet with the conductor and see what news there is," she continued, "We can stay there until it quiets down, or if all's well, we'll head north."  
  
Harm nodded, but he was still watching out the window. "I need to know the troop movements," he said finally, "I'll join up with them from the next station."  
  
"I suppose you're right," Mac said, more to herself than to him, "Harriet and Bud won't go North; they'll go to Florida. You'll go back to your regiment, and I'll carrying on to the north alone."  
  
Harm felt his heart break at her tone. "Sarah," he whispered, "If you ask it of me, I would continue north with you."  
  
Mac's head shot up, and she looked at him in sheer disbelief. She was deeply touched by his offer, for she knew what it cost him. She shook her head, shaking her hair loose. "Harm, I would never ask you to."  
  
Harm let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He hadn't realized that he was willing to abandon his duty for her until he'd said it. He still wasn't sure how he felt about her refusing his offer though. He did not want to be parted from her.  
  
"Harm, we should try to rest," Mac said quietly, "At least for a few hours. The next station is about six miles north west of here."  
  
Harm shook his head. "No, you rest. I'll keep watch." He turned toward the window so that Mac would be able to climb into bed. She let her hair down and ran her fingers through the tangled mass of brown waves. She slipped out of her black woolen mourning dress. A moment later she was standing in only her white linen camisole and heavy cotton pantaloons and feeling a little exposed. She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and slid between the blankets on the bed in the corner.  
  
"I'm all covered up now, Mr. Rabb," she teased, and she was rewarded when he turned his face toward her. There was a smile there that she'd come to love; it took her breath away.  
  
He lowered his eyes from hers, and smiled inwardly. "You should sleep," he said, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice. Mac sighed, and rolled onto her side. In almost no time she was asleep. Harm tried to keep his attention focused outside, but over the several hours he kept watch, he couldn't help watching her. Her chest rose softly with every breath she took, but she didn't sleep quietly. Her eyebrows were knitted together and she tossed and turned. When the few hours had passed, Harm was glad he could wake her.  
  
"Sarah," he whispered as he gently touched her shoulder.  
  
"No. please." she mumbled still half asleep.  
  
Harm took his hand back, and Mac quieted. But he knew he must wake her. "Sarah, it's time."  
  
"No," she said loudly as she shot up in bed. She'd barely opened her eyes, but she threw a swift punch and caught Harm across the jaw. He staggered backward and fell over a chair. The noise shook Mac completely awake. "Oh, Harm," she said her face contorting in regret, "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it was you."  
  
"Who did you think it was?" he asked, holding his jaw.  
  
"My father," she said, looking away from him.  
  
Harm's hand fell to his side as understanding dawned on him. He'd heard her mention her childhood very little in the time that he had known her, and now he knew why. Her father had-- "Sarah, did you father beat you?"  
  
She nodded. "It was just after my mother left," she said, then her face hardened, "But before I could fit back. Soon after that, I left. That's when AJ took me in."  
  
Harm simply stared at her. Every time he learned a little bit more about her, his respect for her grew. A lesser person would have sunk down, but Mac rose to meet every challenge with determination. He shook himself out of his thoughts as Mac pushed back the quilts. He turned just as she stood up. Mac dressed as Harm climbed the ladder and woke the Roberts. 


	24. Chap 24

Jan 14, 1863 Kirkwood County  
  
The dirty and disheveled band approached the house carefully. Mac's skirt was torn in several places, and burrs stuck to her shawl. Harriet didn't look much better; her usually perfect curls were hanging loosely at her shoulders. Bud's pants were stained with mud and his equally dirty jacket was wrapped tightly around little AJ, who rested his pouting face on his shoulders.  
  
Harm looked even worse; with arm in the smudged sling and his skin pale from the exertion, he actually looked dead. They'd only gone about a mile, when Mac noticed that his breathing was fast and labored, and he'd begun to lag behind. Mac paused when they had come to a shallow creek.  
  
"Harriet, Bud," she said, "We've got to rest for a minute. I'm exhausted." She added the last part to spare Harm's pride, and he gave her a thankful grin as he sat down heavily, even though they all knew he was the one who needed to rest. Harriet took little AJ from Bud and sat down with him. She cradled him against her chest as Bud sat down behind her letting her lean back onto him.  
  
Mac knelt down next to Harm and started to undo the sling. "Mac, I'm alright," he protested and tired to shrug her off, but the movement cause a sharp stabbing pain he hadn't felt since he'd pulled out the stitches.  
  
"Like hell you are," she responded and pushed him back against the thick trunk of a magnolia tree. He surrendered and allowed her to remove the cloth sling. He used his good arm to cradle his injured one as she untied the cloth tethers tying his shirt shut. She opened his shirt to reveal his muscular chest and wounded shoulder. The stitches were still in place but there was a pale yellow pus oozing from beneath them, and the entire shoulder was an angry red. "You haven't ripped the stitches, but it's infected."  
  
Harm closed his eyes against the pain Mac's short examination had sent shooting through his entire chest. "I know," he said, "It started a few days ago."  
  
Mac raised her wide and dismayed eyes, and looked at him. "Why didn't you say anything?" she asked, her face quickly changing from worried to furious. "Did you know that infections like this can lead to fatal diseases? This could have killed you if it had been left untreated."  
  
"Mac, enough," he reasoned in a pleading tone, "I noticed it yesterday, just before Brumby." He broke off the statement as a different shadow came over her face. Harriet and Bud looked over at them. Their gazes went from one to the other; the tension between them could have been cut with a knife. Harm sighed and shook his head. "I didn't want to worry you."  
  
"Well, if you die, you'll have no one to blame but yourself," she seethed as she re-threaded the tethers of his shirt and replaced his arm in the sling. Regardless of her anger, she was very careful with his injured arm; after all, the injury wasn't responsible for this man's stupidity, she thought.  
  
She left him sitting there and went to the creek where she tore a wedge of fabric from her skirt and dipped into the icy water. The temperature of the water sent a shiver rippling down her spine and cleared her turbulent mind. She knew Harm was only trying to spare her more pain, and that she was only directing her frustration at him because he was at hand.  
  
She had closed the last hours from her mind, but as she knelt there by the water, they came broke over her like waves, each one more painful than the last. Brumby's men in the distance, their torches lighting up the dusk, Harm running with the hands toward the trees, the house burning, the sound of footsteps. She hadn't realized it but she'd twisted the small square of fabric tight and her knuckles had gone white with tension.  
  
Harm watched her from his seat under the tree. He knew what she was thinking of by the set of her shoulders. He struggled to his feet and wandered over to her. He hesitated a moment before putting a steadying hand on her shoulder. He was rewarded when Mac placed her own hand over his.  
  
She didn't know why she had responded like that. As soon as she felt his warm hand on her cold and tight shoulder she was reminded of the way relief had cascaded over her the day before when she realized the footsteps were his. She twined her fingers into his, and for a long moment they remained linked, she kneeling and he standing tall behind her. The moment was broken when little AJ gave a small cry. Mac released Harm's hand and rose to her feet. "We should get going," she said, her voice even and calm.  
  
They had been forced to travel at an excruciatingly slow pace because of Harm's weakness. Hours later they approached a small farmhouse; a lantern hung outside the door, a signal Mac joyfully recognized. They quickened their pace, and were climbing the stairs of the porch when the door swung open.  
  
An old man with a face like an elf stood before them. His white beard was disarrayed and his long nightshirt hung over his knees, giving him a child- like appearance. "You must Mem Sarah," he said, imitating a voice Mac knew to be one of her hands and she smiled tiredly. The old man smiled back. "Please, come in and rest," he said as he ushered them inside.  
  
When they were all settled in the kitchen, the old man introduced himself. "I'm Charles Whitfield," he said as he placed steaming cups of tea before them. "I've been expecting you since late last night. One of you hands came by and told me to expect you. I understand you've had a bit of a hard time recently."  
  
Mac snorted softly. "That's an understatement," she told him ruefully, "I am the stationmaster at Sweetfern Farm. The farm was burned last night. My hands, my friends, and I barely escaped. I don't know if the sheriff is still looking for us." She turned her worried eyes to the man. "I don't want to bring trouble to you, but we had no where else to go."  
  
Charles shook his hand at her, brushing aside her fears. "I wouldn't worry," he said, "You'll be perfectly safe here. As long as you have need to stay, you are welcome." Mac had barely smiled her thanks, when Harm collapsed forward onto the table. 


	25. Chap 25

"Harm!" Mac cried, coming around the table to pull him back upright. In their brief respite, she had forgotten about Harm's infection. Bud had joined her and together the carried Harm into a bedroom at the back of the house. Mac laid his head back gently and he looked dazedly up at her. "Sarah," he whispered, "I'm sor-"  
  
"Shh," she said quietly, "I know."  
  
"What's wrong with him?" Mr. Whitfield asked worriedly.  
  
"It's infection," Bud answered as he untied Harm's shirt; Mac helped him to remove the shirt completely, then she looked at Mr. Whitfield.  
  
"Please, I need something to clean the wound," she said, "Have you got any medical supplies?" Mr. Whitfield looked confused and shook his head. Mac tried another route. "Whiskey, have you got whiskey?"  
  
"Of course," he answered indignantly. Every good southern man had whiskey.  
  
Mac nodded. "Can you boil water and bring me clean cloth and the whiskey." Mr. Whitfield hurried into the kitchen to do as Mac asked, while Bud helped Mac get Harm situated. They lay him back and by the time Mr. Whitfield returned with the water, whiskey and cloth, Mac had her sleeves rolled up and the bedside table pulled close to her. Harriet had also come into the room.  
  
"Harriet, what about AJ?" Bud asked. "He's asleep," she answered him, but then turned to Mr. Whitfield. "Sir, this may not be something you'll want to see."  
  
The old man stiffened and drew himself up to his full, yet short, height. "Young lady," he said gruffly, "I have seen a great deal of blood and guts in my time. I think I can handle this." Harriet regarded him, and for a moment she was reminded of AJ, her son's namesake. This man had the same rough kindness and stern temperament. She nodded, and the man took up a position next to her at Harm's side.  
  
Half an hour later, Mac had cleansed the wound and covered it with clean bandages. Mr. Whitfield had left five minutes into the procedure to check on the small boy sleeping in the other room. Harriet thanked him for checking on AJ, knowing full well that the old man couldn't handle the atmosphere in the sick room. She and Bud reluctantly left when Mac told them that there was really nothing more they could do but get some rest. Mac remained at his side until he finally awoke at dawn.  
  
"Sarah," he whispered, "What happened?"  
  
Mac leaned over to him and place her hand on his forehead. It sounded good to hear her name instead of "Diane" from his fevered voice. He still felt very warm to the touch. "Welcome back," she said softly, "You had me worried there for a while."  
  
A tired grin spread across his face. "Sorry," he said. His voice was scratchy.  
  
"Here," Mac said, holding a glass of water out for him to drink from. Harm drank greedily as Mac cradled his head. He fell back against his pillow a few moments later, having emptied the glass. Mac sighed as she put the glass back onto the night stand.  
  
"What?" Harm asked, and Mac regarded him for a moment before she answered, "You're the worst patient I've ever had, lieutenant."  
  
"But the most handsome," he joked and was rewarded when Mac smiled.  
  
"You'll be up and moving in a few days if you do everything I tell you to," she said sternly, "Including eating your porridge." Harm made a face at that, but Mac ignored it. "Mr. Whitfield told me that your regiment isn't more than two days ride from here, so if all goes well, you'll be back with them by the end of the week."  
  
He nodded grimly and rested back. Sarah got up, and headed for the door. "Wait," he wanted to call, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't want to give her any false hope. If, when he went back to his regiment, he could be injured again, or killed, and he didn't want to burden her with that.  
  
Mac walked slowly, wanting him to call out to her, but knowing that he wouldn't. Only in fever did he ever call out for her. She knew it wasn't wise for her to feel like this toward him, but it was a stronger feeling than she'd ever felt and she couldn't control it, even if she'd wanted to.  
  
She paused for a moment at the door, and looked back at him. He knew she was watching him, and turned his face to hers. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulder, and her clothes were wrinkled, but her eyes drew his. They were filled with compassion and longing, and deep need that he knew was mirrored in his own eyes. They remained locked together by their gazes for a long, unending moment. 


	26. Chap 26

Mac sat in Mr. Whitfield's living room playing with baby AJ while Harriet sat quietly reading. Baby AJ was happy to play in front of a warm fire after the long cold hours of travelling. Truthfully, Mac was almost contented herself. It must have shown on her face because when she looked up Harriet was smiling at her.  
  
"What?" Mac asked innocently.  
  
Harriet continued to smile at her. "I can tell, you know."  
  
Mac tried to give her a quizzing look, but knew from Harriet's tone that she couldn't fool her. "Is it really that obvious?"  
  
"Only to anyone around you," Harriet said back, and Mac blushed.  
  
Harriet had been about to say something else when they heard a loud knock from the front door. Mac scooped AJ into her arms, Harriet quickly closed her book, and they quickly went into the kitchen. Mac handed AJ to Bud who was sitting at the table reading the newspaper, and then went to press her ear against the door.  
  
She'd only just rested her head against it when it was pushed open. Mac was ready to question Mr. Whitfield about the situation, but it wasn't Mr. Whitfield. It was a group of Union soldiers, lead by a young lieutenant. He was stocky, with broad shoulders and muscular arms, but his face was oddly boyish and topped by sandy hair.  
  
"We're searching for a wounded soldier," he said in a commanding voice as Mr. Whitfield came into the room from behind him. "We received word that someone in the area was holding him."  
  
"I've already told you," Mr. Whitfield said, "We ain't got no Yankees in this house."  
  
"I wasn't asking you, old man," the lieutenant said dangerously.  
  
"This is my home," Mr. Whitfield refused to back to down, "I won't let you bully my guests."  
  
"Sit down, Mr. Whitfield," Mac said as she placed her hand on his shoulder. She felt the old man shake with anger, but he did sit down. "Now, lieutenant-ah, I didn't catch your name."  
  
"I didn't give it, ma'am," he said, "Thank you for subduing the old man. Our search of the house will be much quicker now."  
  
"You can't just go searching a person's property," Mac countered, but even as she spoke the lieutenant pushed passed her and was climbing the stairs. "Wait, you can't go up there," she called.  
  
The soldier rounded on her. He stood several feet taller than she did and was quite intimidating, but Mac didn't back down. "Why not, ma'am? Is there something you are hiding there?" he questioned.  
  
Mac was so angry with him that she didn't notice his eyes shift and his slight nod, but just as she was about to answer him, a pair of strong hands had gripped her arms to her side. "What do you think you are doing?" she shrieked.  
  
Around her chaos seemed to be breaking loose. Bud tried to get to Mac, but another of the soldiers hit him hard across the face. Harriet screamed as Bud fell, and baby AJ began to cry. The soldier holding Mac continued to restrain her as she struggled against him. Mr. Whitfield couldn't help them because he was held in his chair by the last remaining soldier.  
  
Over the noise of the struggle none of them could hear the thundering steps of the lieutenant coming back downstairs. When he reappeared Mac struggled even harder again the man restraining her. The lieutenant was supporting the still fevered form of Harm.  
  
"You can't do this," Mac screamed at the soldier. "Please, that man needs care. You can't take him out of here."  
  
"If you continue to fight us, we'll take you along," he yelled back at her.  
  
Mac shot a quick look to where Harriet sat on the floor holding Bud's head, with baby AJ crying beside her, and, in desperation, she stopped struggling. The lieutenant gave a sharp nod and the soldier holding her let go. She dropped to the floor and began helping Harriet with Bud, silent tears running down her face. 


	27. Chap 27

"No!" A woman's scream broke the clouds of Harm's dreams. He sat bolt upright in bed. His eyes darted around the room; it was a sterile white room, for all the beds had the same white linens on them. Around him, many men lay with various injuries. The panic he'd felt in his sleep only intensified when Harm realized he was in an army hospital. He tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but someone pushed him back down.  
  
"Whoa, you shouldn't be moving again so soon, buddy," the man said.  
  
It took Harm a moment to recognize the face, and even then he was still ill at ease. "Keeter? What the hell happened? Where am I? Where's Mac?"  
  
"Easy Harm," Keeter said, trying to placate his friend. "You're safe. We rescued you two days ago."  
  
"Rescued? Where?" Harm asked as he sat back up.  
  
"We got you out of some old man's house," Keeter explain. He was starting to worry about his friend. Maybe the fever had been worse than they had feared. "It was pretty interesting actually."  
  
"What happened to the others?" Harm asked suddenly.  
  
"What others?" Keeter asked. "More soldiers?"  
  
"No," Harm said exasperated, "Mac, Bud, Harriet and the baby?"  
  
Keeter knit his eyebrows together in confusion and he shook his head at Harm. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"I was travelling with a woman," Harm explain rapidly, "She has wild brown hair, brown eyes, and fiery temper. A family, a blonde pregnant wife, stocky husband and a young son. What happened to them?"  
  
Realization dawned on Keeter. "Harm, we took you from the house you were staying in," he said regretfully, "We thought they were confederate allies holding you hostage."  
  
"You didn't," Harm said disbelieving. "What happened to them? Where are they?"  
  
Keeter sat back; his friend's heated emotion was frightening. "I don't know. We just grabbed you and left."  
  
"You left them unguarded," Harm yelled. "Alone. We were being pursued." Harm had flung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his clothes. Keeter had brought him new uniform.  
  
"Harm, what are you doing?" Keeter said as he watched Harm dress in record time and start walking out of the hospital ward. "You're under orders to remain here until cleared for duty then report to Colonel James."  
  
"Damn my orders," Harm called angrily back to him, as he mounted a horse outside the ward.  
  
"Damn it, Harm," Keeter said under his breath as he too mounted a horse and took off after his cantering friend.  
  
They rode in silence with Keeter leading the way. They rode over battlefields still stained red with blood, past empty farms and around the dreary woods. Harm wasn't aware of anything; all he could thing about was Mac. The way her eyes had looked when he'd last seen her, the way her hair fell over her shoulder, how she scolded him. He was driven by the fear that she was.. be he wouldn't allow himself to think about it.  
  
They had been riding for several hours when Keeter slowed his horse. They turned a corner in the road, and beheld the charred scene of a destroyed farm. Where the house had once stood, nothing remained but a few broken black timbers, and the stone chimney. The barn was nothing but a burnt rectangle on the ground and the orchard and gardens were only ashes.  
  
"Oh, God, no," Harm whispered as he jumped down from his mount. "Please, God, no." He ran forward to the remains of the house.  
  
Keeter jumped down after him, and grabbed his arm before he had gone into the still smoking debris. "No, Harm," he said, his own voice strained, "It's too late."  
  
Harm collapsed to his knees at the edge of the ruined home. He bent his head, which was heavy with grief. Visions of baby AJ laughing and playing and Harriet smiling sweetly at Bud flashed through his eyes. But they were followed by thought of Mac. Harm felt as though his chest was going to split open with the pain. His mind flooded with words he'd been too afraid to speak. A sudden howl of despair escaped him as he rocked back and forth on the black grass, Keeter standing behind him. 


	28. Chap 28

Harm walked up the quiet city street. He was wearing his dress uniform, pressed and polished. He stopped in front of an old townhouse and pulled a tattered piece of old paper out his pocket. He studied it for a moment, for two years he'd dreaded this moment, then looked back up at the house. It was a red brick building with and iron fence encasing its small street- side garden. The garden itself was magnificent. Harm walked up the brick pathway, up the steps and knocked on the door.  
  
A few moments passed, and finally a man answered. He was a tall man with salt and pepper hair, but it was his eyes that were most striking. They were the steely eyes of a man who has seen the evils of the world and is the wiser for it. "How can I help you?" the man asked.  
  
Harm cleared his throat. "I'm looking for Colonel Matthew O'Hara."  
  
The man seemed to stand taller upon hearing the name. "I am Colonel O'Hara. What can I do for you, young man?"  
  
"Sir, I've come to," Harm seemed lost for words, "I've come to, well, um." He felt his nerve slipping away. How was he going to get through this?  
  
"Son, why don't you come in and have a drink?" Colonel O'Hara offered. He recognized the difficulty this young officer was under, but didn't know why he should feel it. He ushered Harm into his study, and motioned for Harm to take a seat in one of the full leather chairs. Harm sat down uncomfortably and stared down at the tatter piece of paper in his hands. Colonel O'Hara had picked up a crystal decanter and was pouring an amber liquor into crystal glasses for them. He offered a glass to Harm, saying, "I hope you like bourbon, lieutenant."  
  
Harm nodded as he took a sip of the potent liquor. "Very good, sir," he said softly after tasting the quality of the drink.  
  
"What's you're name, son?" the colonel asked taking a seat in the chair beside Harm.  
  
"Lieutenant Harmon Rabb, Jr., sir," Harm told him, and he could see understanding dawn in Colonel O'Hara's eyes. He turned his head back down to the tatter paper in his hands.  
  
"I've never known an officer of the United States Army to turn away from a challenging situation," Colonel O'Hara remarked, and was rewarded when Harm defiantly raised his eyes. "That's better soldier. Now, what brings you here?"  
  
"Colonel, I was wounded in a battle two years ago," Harm began, and as the bourbon began to warm his stomach he continued telling Colonel O'Hara everything that Mac had done for him, from the first surgery she had performed to her cooling his fevered brow at the Whitfield place. The colonel didn't interrupt Harm; instead he listened quietly, sipping his bourbon, until Harm finally finished, "That was the last time I saw Mac."  
  
There were unshed tears in his eyes as he continued, "An officer I had gone through the academy with came and found me at the Whitfield place. Assuming that your niece and the others were Confederate sympathizers, he took me and left them unguarded."  
  
Colonel O'Hara stiffened noticeably, and Harm rushed on. "I don't blame him, for all he knew was that I was injured and had been missing for a long time. I blame myself for not addressing my injuries sooner." Harm paused, the memory of the burned farm still fresh in his mind. "I came around two days later, and when I discovered what had happened I raced back to the farm. I found it burned to the ground. There was nothing left."  
  
Colonel O'Hara still didn't speak. He sat rigidly in his chair waiting for whatever else Harm was going to say. And he wasn't disappointed. Harm spoke again, but in a slightly broken voice, "I kept this. Sarah never knew that I had it; it's a letter you had written her. That's how I knew where to find you." He handed the letter to Colonel O'Hara, who looked at it for a moment then handed it back.  
  
Harm ran his finger over the paper, his eyes now brimming. "I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am for everything your niece did to save me." A tear fell unrestrained from Harm's eye. "I never said a lot of things I wish I had said. You're niece was an extraordinary woman." Harm couldn't speak anymore, for he was choked with emotion. Colonel O'Hara rose from his chair and went to comfort the young man. He placed a strong hand on the shaking shoulder and gave it a firm press. Just when he thought his heart would break from the pain, a woman's voice broke the silence of the room.  
  
"Uncle, I'm going to," she began, but she stopped short at the sight before her, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had a guest." She turned to leave, but in that brief moment Harm had recognized her. Her hair was still hanging loosely down her back, wavy and wild. She was still dressed in a simple brown skirt and plain white top. And her eyes; they were still the same warm, passionate chocolate.  
  
"Sarah," he breathed as a stood up, and Mac stopped dead in her tracks. She whirled around to look again. The man who her uncle had been comforting was Harm. He was older, wiser looking. But his eyes were still as deep as the ocean; she felt as though she could fall into them. "Harm," she whispered.  
  
They stared at each other, neither one moving, neither one breathing. Colonel O'Hara stood by silently watching it all unfold. Mac had never told him what had happened on her journey north, except that she and the Roberts family had only just made it to safety. Meeting this Lt. Rabb explained a lot. Suddenly, a laugh filled the room. Harm had begun to laugh, a heartfelt, rich laugh.  
  
Sarah looked at him quizzically, but then she too smiled. She gave one hiccuping giggle as she stepped forward into his arms. She clung to him as her tears soaked his crisp uniform. "I can't believe it. I thought you were dead," he whispered into her hair. "These last two years, I thought you were dead."  
  
"How did you find me?" Mac finally asked.  
  
Harm held up the ruined piece of paper. Mac studied it for a moment, and then she embraced him again; it was the letter Colonel O'Hara had sent her while Harm had been staying with her at Sweetfern. She held him, fearing that if she loosened her grip at all he would slip away again. Eventually, Colonel O'Hara thought it would be prudent to announce his presence, so he cleared his throat and Mac released Harm.  
  
"Sarah, from what Lt. Rabb has just been telling, I think you had better tell him what happened to Bud and Harriet," the colonel suggested, and Mac launched into an account of what had happened after begin separated from Harm. That night, Brumby had caught up with them. They'd had just enough warning to get out of the house on time, but there was nothing they could do to try to save it. Brumby had been thrown from his horse that night, and that was the last Mac knew of him. She and the Roberts left Mr. Whitfield as his brother's farm and had then tried to travel south to Florida, but they were blocked by the moving armies. Travel was dangerous for them, but they decided that perhaps they should go north. They traveled by the underground railroad, and eventually made it to New York.  
  
"Harriet and Bud stayed with us until the baby was born," Mac finished, "A beautiful baby girl named Sarah. They bought a town house and are living peacefully here in New York still."  
  
Harm had remained silent throughout Mac's long narrative, but he never once let go of her hand. Colonel O'Hara noted the familiarity with which Harm was treating his niece, but he was not worried about it. In fact, he was quite pleased. This was the first time since her arrival in New York two years ago, that Mac shown any real passion. It seemed as if the shadow had finally been lifted from her eyes. "I'll leave you two to get caught up," the colonel said, and ignoring their protests for him to stay he left the room.  
  
Now that they were alone Harm and Mac didn't know what to say to each other. The same pull existed between them, but neither knew the words to express it. They stood in silence for a long moment, just staring at each other. Finally, tired of inaction and afraid that he would never get another chance, Harm gather Mac into his arms again. He crushed her to him, and she wrapped her strong arms around him in turn. In that one moment, they knew without words that they were never going to be apart again, and with that knowledge, Harm lifted Mac's chin and kissed her for the first time. 


	29. Alternate Chap 26

Mac sat in Mr. Whitfield's living room with Roberts later that afternoon. She sat on the floor and played with baby AJ while Harriet knitted and Bud read aloud to them. Baby AJ was happy to play in front of the warm fire after the long, cold hours of travelling. Truthfully, Mac was almost content herself. It must have shown on her face because Harriet looked up from her knitting and was smiling at her.  
  
"What?" Mac asked innocently when she noticed her friend's smile.  
  
Harriet answered, "I can tell, you know."  
  
Mac tried to give her a quizzing look, but knew from Harriet's motherly and knowing tone that she wouldn't be able to fool her. "Is it really that obvious?"  
  
"Only to anyone around you," Bud answered, and Mac blushed.  
  
A few moments later, Harm joined them. He entered the room supported by Mr. Whitfield. His arm was back in its sling, but he still looked formidable and handsome. Mac rose to greet him sternly.  
  
"You should still be in bed, lieutenant," she scolded.  
  
Harm grinned at her, but was prevented in saying anything because Mr. Whitfield spoke, "Miss Mackenzie, I ain't never seen a man heal so quickly as this here soldier."  
  
"He convinced you to bring him down, didn't he?" Mac asked, already knowing the answer. She was right; Mr. Whitfield looked guiltily down at his feet. "Harmon Rabb," she said exasperated. "You ought to know better than to push too hard."  
  
"Come on, Mac," he said playfully, as he sat down in an empty armchair near the fire. "I'm feeling great, and besides, it's dull as tombs up there by myself."  
  
Mac sighed resignedly and sat back down to play with little AJ. Bud and Harriet shared a smile at the exchange, and returned to their activities. Mr. Whitfield looked at the quiet scene in his living room before going back out to work.  
  
Harm shifted in his chair as he watched Mac on the floor with AJ. A deep feeling began to churn in his stomach as he watched her. Her long, wavy hair was tamed into a braided oval at the back of her hear, something he was certain Harriet had done for her. She was actually dressed stylishly; the late Mrs. Whitfield had had good taste. She wore a rich brown wool skirt, a fine white wool shirt, and an open jacket that matched her skirt. Her face was a picture of fulfillment; her eyes were soft as she watch little AJ, and her mouth was formed in a small smile. Something stirred deep in Harm chest, something he'd never felt, and thought he'd never feel.  
  
Sensing his eyes on her, Mac looked up at him. His face was drawn in thoughtful contemplation, and his eyes were deeper than ever. She studied the strong lines of his face, trying to memorize them, knowing that soon she would never see them again. She was shaken from her thoughts when little AJ pulled at her sleeve, and said, "An' Mac, hungee."  
  
She turned her face to his and said, "You're hungry already? You just ate."  
  
The toddler smiled guiltily, and proceeded to pull Mac in the direction of the kitchen. "Oh, all right," she sighed as she rose to her feet, but Harriet was already standing too.  
  
"Come on, you little terror," she said to her small son. Bud had risen as well, and joined his wife in taking AJ into the kitchen for a snack. Mac had a sneaking suspicion that they had been looking for an excuse to leave her along with Harm. When she turned back to look at him, he was on his feet.  
  
Harm crossed the space between them in two long strides. He pulled her firmly too him with his good arm at her back, and, with his hand at the nape of her neck, he bent his head and kissed her soundly. The deep stirring in his chest had plummeted into his stomach as he kissed her, and he knew what it meant.  
  
Mac was surprised by his sudden action, but she leaned into him, supporting him with one hand at his waist and the other cupping his cheek. The room around them disappeared and all she knew, all she wanted to know was Harm. Her pulse raced, and her breath came quickly.  
  
Finally, their hearts pounding against their ribcages, they drew apart, but just enough to look into the other's eyes. Mac looked into the depths of his fathomless eyes, and felt tears fill her own. This was the man, the man she's never known she'd wanted. All her life, she'd been strong and independent, not daring to count on anyone. But now, staring into his eyes, she knew that she would never be that woman again. A single tear fell and rolled gracefully down her cheek.  
  
Harm wiped it away with his thumb and looked at her. So fierce, so brave, so passionate, so vulnerable. This woman was everything a woman could be, and more. With each passing moment, the feeling within him grew more potent. With her in his arms, he knew that everything was right in the world, and the this was his place in it.  
  
"Sarah," he breathed into her hair as he hugged her close to him. He closed his eyes, searching for the words to tell her everything that he felt within him. She seemed to perceive his difficulty because she tilted her face and raised her eyes to his. She smiled and nodded in silent understanding.  
  
From the doorway, Harriet and Bud watched with widening smiles on their faces. 


End file.
